
Class _BJ5 IX- 

Book . T < 



PRESENTED BY 






ESSAYS 



BY 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH, M. B. 



MDCCCXIX. 









<5*-^ 7 V s 



Printed by T. Davison, 

Whitef riar*. 



GOLDSMITHS ESSAYS. 




Sir J. Reynolds pinx* 



JLQOTXDJKr, ffUBLISHJE© BY JOIW SMAM.TE., FKCC J ~ 
IBI9. 



-■"#* 



^>; 



PREFACE. 



The following Essays have already appeared at 
different times, and in different publications. The 
pamphlets in which they were inserted being gene- 
rally unsuccessful, these shared the common fate, 
without assisting the booksellers aims or extending 
the writer's reputation. The public were too stre- 
nuously employed w T ith their own follies to be 
assiduous in estimating mine ; so that many of my 
best attempts in this way have fallen victims to 
the transient topic of the times; the Ghost in 
Cock-lane, or the siege of Ticonderago. 

But though they have passed pretty silently into 
the world, I can by no means complain of their cir- 
culation. The magazines and papers of the day 
have indeed been liberal enough in this respect. 
Most of these essays have been regularly reprinted 
twice or thrice a year, and conveyed to the public 
through the kennel of some engaging publication. 
If there be a pride in multiplied editions, I have 
seen some of my labours sixteen times reprinted, 
and claimed by different parents as their own. I 
have seen them flourished at the beginning wdth 
praise, and signed at the end with the names of 
Philantos, Philalethes, Philaleutheros, and Philan- 
thropes. These gentlemen have kindly stood spon- 



4 PREFACE. 

sors to my productions, and to flatter me more have 
always passed them as their own. 

It is time however at last to vindicate my claims, 
and as these entertainers of the public, as they call 
themselves, have partly lived upon me for some 
years, let me now try if I cannot live a little upon 
myself. I would desire in this case to imitate that 
fat man, whom I have somewhere heard of in a 
shipwreck, who, when the sailors, pressed by fa- 
mine, were taking slices from his posteriors to 
satisfy their hunger, insisted with great justice on 
having the first cut for himself. 

Yet after all, I cannot be angry with any who 
have taken it into their heads to think that what- 
ever I write is worth reprinting, particularly when 
I consider how great a majority will think it scarcely 
worth reading. Trifling and superficial are terms 
of reproach that are easily objected, and that carry 
an air of penetration in the observer. These faults 
have been objected to the following Essays; and it 
must be owned in some measure that the charge is 
true. However, I could have made them more me- 
taphysical had I thought fit, but I would ask whe- 
ther in a short essay it is not necessary to be super - 
ficial ? Before we have prepared to enter into the 
depths of a subject in the usual forms, we have 
arrived at the bottom of our scanty page, and thus 
lose the honours of a victory by too tedious a pre- 
paration for the combat. 

There is another fault in this collection of trifles, 
which I fear will not be so easily pardoned. It will 
be alleged, that the humour of them (if any be 
found) is stale and hackneyed. This may be true 
enough as matters now stand, but I may with great 



PREFACE. 5 

truth assert, that the humour was new when I wrote 
it. Since that time indeed many of the topics, 
which were first started here, have been hunted 
down,' and many of the thoughts blown upon. In 
fact, these Essays were considered as quietly laid in 
the grave of oblivion ; and our modern compilers, 
like sextons and executioners, think it their un- 
doubted right to pillage the dead. 

However, whatever right I have to complain of 
the public, they can as yet have no just reason to 
complain of me. If I have written dull essays, 
they have hitherto treated them as dull essays. 
Thus" far we are at least upon par, and until they 
think "fit to make me their humble debtor by praise, 
I am resolved not to lose a single inch of my self- 
importance. Instead, therefore, of attempting to 
establish a credit amongst them, it will perhaps be 
wiser to apply to some more distant correspondent, 
and as my drafts are in some danger of being pro- 
tested at home, it may not be imprudent upon this 
occasion to draw my bills upon posterity. Mr. Pos- 
terity, sir, nine hundred and ninety-nine years after 
sight hereof, pay the bearer, or order, a thousand 
pounds' worth of praise, free from all deductions 
whatsoever, it being a commodity that will then be 
very serviceable to him ; and place it to the account 
of, &c. 



ESSAYS. 

L 

DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 



I remember to have read in some philosopher (I 
believe in Tom Brown's works) that, let a man's 
character, sentiments, or complexion, be what they 
will, he can find company in London to match 
them. If he be splenetic, he may every day meet 
companions on the seats in St. James's Park, with 
whose groans he may mix his own, and pathetically 
talk of the weather. If he be passionate, he may 
vent his rage among the old orators at Slaughter's 
coffee-house, and damn the nation because it keeps 
him from starving. If he be phlegmatic, he may 
sit in silence at the Hum-drum club in Ivy-lane ; 
and if actually mad, he may find very good com- 
pany in Moor-fields, either at Bedlam, or the Foun- 
dery, ready to cultivate a nearer acquaintance. 

But, although such as have a knowledge of the 
town may easily class themselves with tempers con- 
genial to their own, a countryman who comes to 
live in London finds nothing more difficult. With 
regard to myself, none ever tried with more assi- 
duity, or came off with such indifferent success. I 



8 goldsmith's essays. 

spent a whole season in the search, during which 
time my name has been enrolled in societies, lodges, 
convocations, and meetings without number. To 
some I was introduced by a friend, to others in- 
vited by an advertisement ; to these I introduced 
myself, and to those I changed my name to gain 
admittance. In short, no coquette was ever more 
solicitous to match her ribbons to her complexion, 
than I to suit my club to my temper, for I was toe> 
obstinate to bring my temper to conform to it. 

The first club 1 entered upon coming to towis 
was that of the Choice Spirits. The name was en- 
tirely suited to my taste; I was a lover of mirth, 
good-humour, and even sometimes of fun, from my-j. 
childhood. 

As no other passport was requisite but the pay- 
ment of two shillings at the door, I introduced my- 
self without further ceremony to the members, who 
were already assembled, and had for some time . 
begun upon business. The Grand, with a mallet in 
his hand, presided at the head of the table. I could 
not avoid, upon my entrance, making use of all my 
skill in physiognomy, in order to discover that supe- 
riority of genius in men, who had taken a title so 
superior to the rest of mankind. I expected to see 
the lines of every face marked with strong think- 
ing ; but though I had some skill in this science, I 
could for my life discover nothing but a pert sim- 
per, flat r or profound stupidity. 

My speculations were soon interrupted by the 
Grand, who had knocked down Mr. Sprigging for a 
song. I was upon this whispered by one of the 
company who sat next me, that I should now see 
something touched off to a nicety, for Mr. Sprig^ins 



DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 9 

was going to give us Mad Tom in all its glory. 
Mr. Spriggins endeavoured to excuse himself; for, 
as he was to act a madman and a king, it was im- 
possible to go through the part properly without a 
crown and chains. His excuses were over-ruled by 
a great majority, and with much vociferation. The 
president ordered up the jack-chain, and instead of 
a crown, our performer covered his brows with an 
inverted Jordan. After he had rattled his chain, 
and shook his head, to the great delight of the 
whole company, he began his song. As I have 
heard few young fellows offer to\sing in company 
that did not expose themselves, it was no great dis- 
appointment to me to find Mr.Spriggins among the 
number; however not to seem an odd fish, I rose 
from my seat in rapture, cried out, bravo! encore! 
and slapped the table as loud as any of the rest. 

The gentleman who sat next me seemed highly 
pleased with my taste, and the ardour of my appro- 
bation ; and whispering, told me that I had suf- 
fered an immense loss; for had I come a few mi- 
nutes sooner, I might have heard Gee ho Dobbin 
sung in a tip-top manner by the pimple-nosed spirit 
at the president's right elbow; but he was evapo- 
rated before I came. 

As I was expressing my uneasiness at this disap- 
pointment, I found the attention of the company 
employed upon a fat figure, who, with a voice more 
rough than the Staffordshire giant's, was giving us 
the ' Softly sweet in Lydian measure' of Alexander's 
Feast. After a short pause of admiration, to this 
succeeded a Welch dialogue, with the humours of 
Teague and Taffy : after that came on Old Jack- 
son, with a story between every stanza : next was 

b 2 



10 goldsmith's essays. 

sung the Dust-cart, and then Solomon's Song. The 
glass began now to circulate pretty freely; those 
who were silent when sober, would now be heard 
in their turn ; every man had his song, and he saw 
no reason why he should not be heard as well as 
any of the rest ; one begged to be heard while he 
gave Death and the Lady in high taste ; another 
sung to a plate which he kept trundling on the 
edges : nothing was now heard but singing ; voice 
rose above voice, and the whole became one uni- 
versal shout, when the landlord came to acquaint 
the company that the reckoning was drank out; 
Rabelais calls the moments in which a reckoning 
is mentioned the most melancholy of our lives : 
never was so much noise so quickly quelled, as by 
this short but pathetic oration of our landlord. 
" Drank out 1" was echoed in a tone of discontent 
round the table': " Drank out already! that was very 
odd ! that so much punch could be drank out al- 
ready : impossible !" The landlord however seemed 
resolved not to retreat from his first assurances, the 
company was dissolved, and a president chosen for 
the night ensuing. 

A friend of mine, to whom I was complaining 
some time after of the entertainment I have been 
describing, proposed to bring me to the club that 
he frequented; which he fancied would suit the 
gravity of my temper exactly. " We have at the 
Muzzy club," says he, " no riotous mirth, nor awk- 
ward ribaldry ; no confusion or bawling ; all is 
conducted with wisdom and decency ; besides, some 
of our members are worth forty thousand pounds ; 
men of prudence and foresight every one of them : 
these are the proper acquaintance, and to such 



DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 11 

I will to-night introduce you/* I was charmed 
at the proposal ; to be acquainted with men worth 
forty thousand pounds, and to talk wisdom the 
whole night, were offers that threw me into rap- 
ture. 

At seven o'clock I was accordingly introduced 
by my friend, not indeed to the company; for 
though I made my best bow they seemed insensible 
of my approach, but to the table at which they 
were sitting. Upon my entering the room, I could 
not avoid feeling a secret veneration from the so- 
lemnity of the scene before me ; the members kept 
a profound silence, each with a pipe in his mouth, 
and a pewter pot in his hand, and with faces that 
might easily be construed into absolute wisdom. 
Happy society, thought I to myself, where the 
members think before they speak, deliver nothing 
rashly, but convey their thoughts to each other preg- 
nant with meaning, and matured by reflection. 

In this pleasing speculation I continued a full 
half hour, expecting each moment that somebody 
would begin to open his mouth ; every time the 
pipe was laid down I expected it was to speak ; 
but it was only to spit. At length resolving to 
break the charm myself, and overcome their ex- 
treme diffidence, for to this I imputed their silence ; 
I rubbed my hands, and, looking as wise as possi- 
ble, observed that the nights began to grow a little 
coolish at this time of the year. This, as it was 
directed to none of the company in particular, none 
thought himself obliged to answer ; wherefore I 
continued still to rub my hands and look wise. 
My next effort was addressed to a gentleman who 
sat next me; to whom I observed that the beer 



12 goldsmith's essays. 

was extremely good : my neighbour made no re- 
ply, but by a large puff of tobacco-smoke. 

I now began to be uneasy in this dumb society, 
till one of them a little relieved me by observing 
that bread had not risen these three weeks : "Ay," 
says another, still keeping the pipe in his mouth, 
" that puts me in mind of a pleasant story about 
that — hem — very well ; you must know — but, be- 
fore I begin — sir, my service to you — where 
was I ?" 

My next club goes by the name of the Harmo- 
nical Society ; probably from that love of order and 
friendship which every person commends in institu- 
tions of this nature. The landlord was himself 
founder. The money spent is four-pence each ; and 
they sometimes whip for a double reckoning. To 
this club few recommendations are requisite, ex- 
cept the introductory four-pence and my landlord's 
good word, which, as he gains by it, he never re- 
fuses. 

We all here talked and behaved as every body 
else usually does on his club-night ; we discussed 
the topic of the day, drank each other's healths, 
snuffed the candles with our fingers, and rilled our 
pipes from the same plate of tobacco. The com- 
pany saluted each other in the common manner. 
Mr. Bellows-mender hoped Mr. Cur ry- comb -maker 
had not caught cold going home the last club-night ; 
and he returned the compliment by hoping that 
young master Bellows-mender had got well again 
of the chin-cough. Doctor Twist told us a sto- 
ry of a parliament-man with whom he was in- 
timately acquainted ; while the bug-man, at the 
same time, was telling a better story of a noble 



DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 13 

lord with whom he could do any thing, A gentle- 
man in a -black wig and leather breeches, at the 
other end of the table, was engaged in a long nar- 
rative of the Ghost in Cock -lane : he had read it in 
the papers of the day, and was telling it to some 
that sat next him, who could not read. Near him 
Mr. Dibbins was disputing on the old subject of re- 
ligion with a Jew pedler, over the table, while the 
president vainly knocked down Mr. Leathersides 
for a song. Besides the combinations of these 
voices, which I could hear altogether, and which 
formed an upper part to the concert, there were 
several others playing under parts by themselves, 
and endeavouring to fasten on some luckless neigh- 
bour's ear, who was himself bent upon the same 
design against some other. 

We have often heard of the speech of a corpo- 
ration, and this induced me to transcribe a speech 
of this club, taken in short-hand, word for word, as 
it was spoken by every member of the company. 
It may be necessary to observe, that the man who 
told of the ghost had the loudest voice, and the 
longest story to tell, so that his continuing narrative 
filled every chasm in the conversation. 

* So, sir, d'ye perceive me, the ghost giving three 
loud raps at the bed- post — says my lord to me, my 
dear Smokeum, you know there is no man upon the 
face of the earth for whom 1 have so high — a dam- 
nable false heretical opinion of all sound doctrine 
and good learning ; for I'll tell it aloud, and spare 
not that — Silence for a song; Mr. Leathersides for 
a song — 'As I was a walking upon the highway 3 
I met a young damsel' — Then what brings you 
here? says the parson to the ghost — Sanconiathan, 



14 goldsmith's essays. 

Manetho, and Berosus — The whole way from Is- 
lington turnpike to Dog-house-bar — Dam — As for 
AbelDrugger, sir, he's damn'd low in it; my 'pren- 
tice boy has more of the gentleman than he — For 
murder will out one time or other ; and none but a 
ghost, you know, gentlemen,- can — Damme if I 
don't ; for my friend, whom you know, gentlemen, 
and who is a parliament-man, a man of conse- 
quence, a dear honest creature, to be sure ; we were 
laughing last night at — Death and damnation upon 
all his posterity by simply, barely tasting — Sour 
grapes, as the fox said once when'he could not 
reach them ; and I'll, I'll tell you a story about that 
that will make you burst your sides with laughing : 
A fox once— Will nobody listen to the song — 'As 
I was a walking upon the highway, I met a young 
damsel both buxom and gay.' — No ghost, gentle- 
men, can be murdered ; nor did I ever hear but of 
one ghost killed in all my life, and that was stab- 
bed in the belly with a — My blood and soul if I 
don't — Mr. Bellows-mender, I have the honour of 
drinking your very good health — Blast me if I do 
— dam — blood — bugs — fire — whizz — blid — tit — 
rat — trip.' The rest all riot, nonsense, and ra- 
pid confusion. 

Were I to be angry at men for being fools, I 
could here find ample room for declamation ; but 
alas ! I have been a fool myself; and why should 
I be angry with them for being something so natu- 
ral to every child of humanity ? 

Fatigued with this society, I was introduced the 
following night to a club of fashion. On taking 
my place I found the conversation sufficiently easy, 
and tolerably good-natured ; for my lord and sir 



DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS CLUBS. 15 

Paul were not yet arrived. I now thought myself 
completely fitted, and resolving to seek no further, 
determined to take up my residence here for the 
winter; while my temper began to open insensibly 
to the cheerfulness I saw diffused on every face in 
the room : but the delusion soon vanished, when the 
waiter came to apprise us that his lordship and sir 
Paul were just arrived. 

From this moment all our felicity was at an end ; 
our new guests bustled into the room, and took 
their seats at the head of the table. Adieu now all 
confidence ; every creature strove who should most 
recommend himself to our members of distinction. 
Each seemed quite regardless of pleasing any but 
our new guests ; and what before wore the appear- 
ance of friendship, was now turned into rivalry. 

Yet I could not observe, that amidst all this flat- 
tery and obsequious attention, our great men took 
any notice of the rest of the company. Their whole 
discourse was addressed to each other. Sir Paul 
told his lordship a long story of Moravia the Jew ; 
and his lordship gave sir Paul a very long account 
of his new method of managing silk- worms ; he led 
him, and consequently the rest of the company, 
through all the stages of feeding, sunning, and 
hatching ; with an episode on mulberry-trees, a di- 
gression upon grass seeds, and a long parenthesis 
about his new postilion. In this manner we tra- 
velled on, wishing every story to be the last ; but 
all in vain, 

" Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arose." 
- The last club in which I was enrolled a member, 



16 GOLDSMITH'S ESSAYS. 

was a society of moral philosophers, as they' called 
themselves, who assembled twice a week, in order 
to show the absurdity of the present mode of reli- 
gion, and establish a new one in its stead. 

I found the members very warmly disputing 
when I arrived; not indeed about religion or ethics, * 
but about who had neglected to lay down his pre- 
liminary six-pence upon entering the room. The 
president swore that he had laid his own down, and 
so swore all the company. 

During this contest I had an opportunity of ob- 
serving the laws, and also the members of the so- 
ciety. The president, who had been, as I was told, 
lately a bankrupt, was a tall pale figure with a 
long black wig ; the next to him was dressed in a 
large white wig and a black cravat : a third by the 
brownness of his complexion seemed a native of 
Jamaica; and a fourth by his hue appeared to be a 
blacksmith. But their rules will give the most just 
idea of their learning and principles. 

I. We being a laudable society of moral philo- 
sophers, intends to dispute twice a week about re- 
ligion and priestcraft. Leaving behind us old wives' 
tales, and following good learning and sound sense : 
and if so be, that any other other persons has a 
mind to be of the society, they shall be entitled so 
to do, upon paying the sum of three shillings, to be 
spent by the company in punch. 

II. That no member get drunk before nine of 
the clock, upon pain of forfeiting three-pence, to 
be spent by the company in punch. 

III. That as members are sometimes apt to go 
away without paying, every person shall pay six- 
pence upon his entering the room ; and all disputes 



SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE. 17 

shall be settled by a. majority ; and all fines shall 
be paid in punch. 

IV. That sixpence shall be every night given to 
the president, in order to buy books of learning 
for the good of the society ; the president has al- 
ready put himself to a good deal of expense in buy- 
ing books for the club ; particularly the works of 
Tully, Socrates, and Cicero, which he will soon 
read to the society. 

V. All them who brings a new argument against 
religion, and who, being a philosopher, and a 
man of learning, as the rest of us is, shall be ad- 
mitted to the freedom of the society, upon paying 
six-pence only, to be spent in punch. 

VI. Whenever we are to have an extraordinary 
meeting, it .shall be advertised by some outlandish 
name in the newspapers. 

Saunders Mac Wild, President, 
Anthony Blewit, Vice-president, 
his -|- mark. 
William Turpin, Secretary. 

II. 

SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE IN MINIATURE. 

We essayists, who are allowed but one subject at a 
time, are by no means so fortunate as the writers 
of magazines, who write upon several. If a ma- 
gaziner be dull upon the Spanish war, he soon has 
us up again with the ghost in Cock-Lane ; if the 
reader begins to doze upon that, he is quickly 



18 goldsmith's essays. 

rouzed by an Eastern tale ; tales prepare us for poe- 
try, and poetry for the meteorological history of the 
weather. It is the life and soul of a magazine ne- 
ver to be long dull upon one subject ; and the rea- 
der, like the sailor's horse, has at least the com- 
fortable refreshment of having the spur often 
changed. * 

As I see no reason why they should carry off all 
the rewards of genius, I have some thoughts for the 
future of making this essay a magazine in minia- 
ture : I shall hop from subject to subject ; and, if 
properly encouraged, I intend in time to adorn my 
feuille volant with pictures. But to begin in the 
usual form with 

A Modest Address to the Public. 

The public has been so often imposed upon by 
the unperforming promises of others, that it is with 
the utmost modesty we assure them of our inviola- 
ble design of giving the very best collection that 
ever astonished society. The public we honour 
and regard, and therefore to instruct and entertain 
them is our highest ambition, with labours calcu- 
lated as well for the head as the heart. If four 
extraordinary pages of letter-press be any recom- 
mendation of our wit, we may at least boast the 
honour of vindicating our own abilities. To say 
more in favour of the Infernal Magazine, would 
be unworthy the public ; to say less, would be inju- 
rious to ourselves. As we have no interested mo- 
tives for this undertaking, being a society of gen- 
tlemen of distinction, we disdain to eat of write 
like hirelings ; we are all gentlemen, resolved to 



SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE. 19 

sell our sixpenny magazine merely for our own 
amusement. 
Be careful to ask for the Infernal Magazine. 

Dedication to that most ingenious of all Patrons, 
the Tripoline Ambassador. 

May it please your Excellency, 

As your taste in the fine arts is universally al- 
lowed and admired, permit the authors of the In- 
fernal Magazine to lay the following sheets hum- 
bly at your Excellency's toe ; and should our la- 
bours ever have the happiness of one day adorning 
the courts of Fez, we doubt not that the influence 
w T herewith we are honoured, shall be ever retained 
with the most warm ardour by, 

May it please your Excellency, 
Your most devoted humble servants, 

The Authors of the Infernal Magazine. 

A Speech spoken by the Indigent Philosopher to 
persuade his Club at Cateaton to declare War 
against Spain. 

My honest friends and brother politicians ; I 
perceive that the intended war with Spain makes 
many of you uneasy. Yesterday, as we were 
told, the stocks rose, and you were glad ; to-day 
they fall, and you are again miserable. But, my 
dear friends, what is the rising or the falling of the 
stocks to us, who have no money ? Let Nathan 
Ben Funk, the Dutch Jew, be glad or sorry for 
this ; but my good Mr. Bellows-mender, what is all 



20 goldsmith's essays. 

this to you or me ? You must mend broken bellows, 
and I write bad prose as long as we live, whether 
we like a Spanish war or not. Believe me, my ho- 
nest friends, whatever you may talk of liberty and 
your own reason, both that liberty and reason are 
conditionally resigned by every poor man in every 
society ; and, as we are born to work, so others are 
born to watch over us while w T e are working. In 
the name of common sense then, my good friends, 
let the great keep watch over us, and let us mind 
our business, and perhaps we may at last get mo- 
ney ourselves, and set beggars at work in our turn. 
I have a Latin sentence that is worth its weight in 
gold, and which I shall beg leave to translate for 
your instruction. An author, called Lilly's Gram- 
mar, finely observes, that " JEs in pracsenti perfec- 
tum format ;" that is, " Ready money makes a per- 
fect man ;" let us then get ready money; and let 
them that will spend theirs by going to war with 
Spain. 

B&fcs for Behaviour, drawn up by the Indigent 
Philosopher. 

If you be a rich man, you may enter the room 
with three loud hems, march deliberately up to the 
chimney, and turn your back to the fire. If you 
be a poor man, I would advise you to shrink into 
the room as fast as you can, and place yourself as 
usual upon a corner of a chair in a remote corner. 

When you are desired to sing in company, I 
would advise you to refuse ; for it is a thousand to 
one but that you torment us with affectation or a 
bad voice. 



SPECIMEN OF A MAGAZINE. 21 

If you be young, and live with an old man, I 
would advise you not to like gravy ; I was disinhe- 
rited myself for liking gravy. 

Don't laugh much in public ; the spectators that 
are not as merry as you, will hate you, either be- 
cause they envy your happiness, or fancy themselves 
the subject of your mirth. 

Rules for raising the Devil. Translated from the 
Latin of Danceus de Sortiariis, a Writer con- 
temporary with Calvin, and one of the Re- 
formers of our Church. 

The person who desires to raise the devil, is to 
sacrifice a dog, a cat, and a hen, all of his own pro- 
perty, to Beelzebub. He is to swear an eternal 
obedience, and then to receive a mark in some un- 
seen place, either under the eye-lid, or in the roof 
of the mouth, inflicted by the devil himself. Upon 
this he has power given him over three spirits ; one 
for earth, another for air, and a third for the sea. 
Upon certain times the devil holds an assembly of 
magicians, in which each is to give an account of 
what evil he has done, and what he wishes to do. 
At this assembly he appears in the shape of an old 
man, or often like a goat with large horns. They 
upon this occasion renew their vows of obedience ; 
and then form a grand dance in honour of their 
false deity. The devil instructs them in every me- 
thod of injuring mankind, in gathering poisons, and 
of riding upon occasion through the air. He shows 
them the whole method, upon examination, of 
giving evasive answers ; his spirits have power to 
assume the form of angels of light, and there is but 



22 goldsmith's essays. 

one method of detecting them ; viz. to ask them in 
proper form, what method is the most certain to 
propagate the faith over all the world? To this 
they are not permitted by the Superior Power to 
make a false reply, nor are they willing to give the 
true one ; wherefore they continue silent, and are 
thus detected. 



III. 

ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE. 

Where Tauris lifts its head "above the storm, and 
presents nothing to the sight of the distant traveller 
but a prospect of nodding rocks, falling torrents, 
and all the variety of tremendous nature ; on the 
bleak bosom of this frightful mountain, secluded 
from society, and detesting the ways of men, lived 
Asem, the man-hater. 

Asem had spent his youth with men ; had shared 
in their amusements ; and had been taught to love 
his fellow- creatures with the most ardent affection ; 
but from the tenderness of his disposition he ex- 
hausted all his fortune in relieving the wants of the 
distressed. The petitioner never sued in vain ; the 
weary traveller never passed his door ; he only de- 
sisted from doing good when he had no longer the 
power of relieving. 

From a fortune thus spent in benevolence, he ex- 
pected a grateful return from those he had formerly 
relieved ; and made his application with confidence 
of redress : the ungrateful world soon grew weary 
of his importunity ; for pity is but a short lived pas- 



ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE. 23 

sion. He soon therefore began to view mankind in 
a very different light from that in which he had be- 
fore beheld them : he perceived a thousand vices 
he had never before suspected to exist: wherever 
he turned, ingratitude, dissimulation, and treachery 
contributed to increase his detestation of them. Re- 
solved therefore to continue no longer in a world 
which he hated, and which repaid his detestation 
with contempt, he retired to this region of sterility, 
in order to brood over his resentment in solitude, 
and converse with the only honest heart he knew ; 
namely, with his own. 

A cave was his only shelter from the inclemency 
of the weather ; fruits gathered with difficulty from 
the mountain's side his only food : and his drink 
was fetched with danger and toil from the head- 
long torrent. In this manner he lived, sequestered 
from society, passing the hours in meditation, and 
sometimes exulting that he was able to live inde- 
pendently of his fellow-creatures. 

At the foot of the mountain an extensive lake 
displayed its glassy bosom ; reflecting on its broad 
surface the impending horrors of the mountain. To 
this capacious mirror he would sometimes descend, 
and reclining on its steep banks, cast an eager look 
on the smooth expanse that lay before him. " How 
beautiful," he often cried, " is nature ! how lovely 
even in her wildest scenes ! How finely contrasted 
is the level plain that lies beneath me, with yon aw- 
ful pile that hides its tremendous head in clouds I 
But the beauty of these scenes is no way compara- 
ble with their utility ; hence an hundred rivers are 
supplied, which distribute health and verdure to 
the various countries through which they flow. 



24 goldsmith's essays. 

Every part of the universe is beautiful, just^ and 
wise, but man ; vile man is a solecism in nature ; 
the only monster in the creation. Tempests and 
whirlwinds have their use ; but vicious ungrateful 
man is a blot in the fair page of universal beauty. 
Why was I born of that detested species, whose 
vices are almost a reproach to the wisdom of the 
divine Creator ! Were men entirely free from vice, 
all would be uniformity, harmony, and order. A 
world of moral rectitude should be the result of a 
perfect moral agent. Why, why then, O Alia i 
must I be thus confined in darkness, doubt, and 
despair?" 

Just as he uttered the word despair, he was go- 
ing to plunge into the lake beneath him, at once to 
satisfy his doubts, and put a period to his anxiety ; 
when he perceived a most majestic being walking 
on the surface of the water, and approaching the 
bank on which he stood. So unexpected an object 
at once checked his purpose ; he stopped, contem- 
plated, and fancied he saw something awful and 
divine in his aspect. 

'• Son of Adam/' cried the genius, " stop thy rash 
purpose ; the Father of the Faithful has seen thy. 
justice, thy integrity, thy miseries, and hath sent 
me to afford and administer relief. Give me thine 
hand, and follow without trembling wherever I 
shall lead ; in-me behold the Genius of Conviction, 
kept by the Great Prophet, to turn from their er- 
rors those who go astray, not from curiosity, but a 
rectitude of intention. Follow me, and be wise." 

Asem immediately descended upon the lake, and 
his guide conducted him along the surface of the 
water; till, coming near the centre of the lake, 



ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE. 25 

they both began to sink ; the waters closed over 
their heads; they descended several hundred fa- 
thoms, till Asem, just ready to give up his life as 
inevitably lost, found himself with his celestial 
guide in another world, at the bottom of the waters, 
where human foot had never trod before. His asto- 
nishment was beyond description, when he saw a 
sun like that he had left, a serene sky over his head, 
and blooming verdure under his feet. 

4< I plainly perceive your amazement/' said the 
genius ; " but suspend it for a while. This world 
was formed by Alia, at the request, and under the 
inspection, of our great Prophet ; who once enter- 
tained the same doubts which filled your mind when 
I found you, and from the consequence of which 
you were so lately rescued. The rational inha- 
bitants of this world are formed agreeable to your 
own ideas ; they are absolutely without vice. In 
other respects it resembles your earth, but differs 
from it in being wholly inhabited by men who ne- 
ver do wrong. If you find this world more agree- 
able than that you so lately left, you have free per- 
mission to spend the remainder of your days in it ; 
but permit me for some time to attend you, that I 
may silence your doubts, and make you better ac- 
quainted with your company and your new habita- 
tion '." 

" A world without vice ! rational beings with- 
out immorality !" cried Asem in a rapture: " I 
thank thee, O Alia, who hast at length heard my 
petitions : this, this indeed will produce happiness, 
ecstasy, and ease. O ! for an immortality, to spend 
it among men who are incapable of ingratitude, 

c 



26 goldsmith's essays. 

injustice, fraud, violence, and a thousand other 

crimes, that render society miserable." 

{< Cease thine acclamations/* replied the genius, 
" Look around thee ; reflect on every object and ac- 
tion before us, and communicate to me the result 
of thine observations. Lead wherever you think 
proper, I shall be your attendant and instructor."" 
Asem and his companion travelled on in silence for 
some time, the former being entirely lost in asto- 
nishment ; but at last recovering his former serenity, 
he could not help observing that the face of the 
country bore a near resemblance to that he had 
left, except that this subterranean world still seem- 
ed to retain its primeval wildness. 

" Here," cried Asem, " I perceive animals of 
prey, and others that seem only designed for their 
subsistence ; it is the very same in the world over 
our heads. But had I been permitted to instruct our 
Prophet, I would have removed this defect, and 
formed no voracious or destructive animals, which 
only prey on the other parts of the creation/* 
" Your tenderness for inferior animals is, I find, 
remarkable," said the genius, smiling : " but with 
regard to meaner creatures, this world exactly re- 
sembles the other; and indeed for obvious reasons; 
for the earth can support a more considerable num- 
ber of animals, by their thus becoming food for 
each other, than if they had lived entirely on her 
vegetable productions. So that animals of differ- 
ent natures, thus formed, instead of lessening their 
multitude, subsist in the greatest number possible. 
But let us hasten on to the inhabited country before 
us, and see what that offers for instruction. " 



ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE. 27 

They soon gained the utmost verge of the forest, 
and entered the country inhabited by men without 
vice; and Asem anticipated in idea the rational de- 
light he hoped to experience in such an innocent 
society. But they had scarcely left the confines of 
the wood, when they beheld one of the inhabitants 
flying with hasty steps, and terror in his counte- 
nance, from an army of squirrels that closely pur- 
sued him. " Heavens!" cried Asem, " why does he 
fly ? What can he fear from animals so contempti- 
ble ?" He had scarcely spoken, when he perceived 
two dogs pursuing another of the human species, 
who, with equal terror and haste, attempted to 
avoid them. " This," cried Asem to his guide, " is 
truly surprising ; nor can I conceive the reason for 
so strange an action." " Every species of animals," 
replied the genius, " has of late grown very power- 
ful in this country; for the inhabitants at first 
thinking it unjust to use either fraud or force in 
destroying them, they have insensibly increased, 
and now frequently ravage their harmless fron- 
tiers." " But they should have been destroyed," 
cried Asem ; you see the consequence of such 
neglect." " Where is then that tenderness you 
so lately expressed for subordinate animals ?" re- 
plied the genius, smiling ; " you seem to have for- 
got that branch of justice." " I must acknowledge 
my mistake," returned Asem ; " I am now con- 
vinced that we must be guilty of tyranny and injus- 
tice to the brute creation, if we would enjoy the 
world ourselves. But let us no longer observe the 
duty of man to these irrational creatures, but sur- 
vey their connexions with one another." 

As they walked further up the country, the more 



28 goldsmith's essays. 

he was surprised to see no vestiges of handsome 
houses, no cities, nor any mark of elegant design.. 
His conductor perceiving his surprise, observed, that 
the inhabitants of this new world were perfectly* 
content with their ancient simplicity ; each had a 
house, which, though homely, was sufficient to 
lodge his little family ; they were too good to build 
houses, which could only increase their own pride, 
and the envy of the spectator; what they built was 
for convenience, and not for show. " At least, then," 
said Asem, " they have neither architects, painters, 
nor statuaries, in their society ; but these are idle 
arts, and may be spared. However, before I spend 
much more time, you should have my thanks for 
introducing me into the society of some of their 
wisest men : there is scarcely any pleasure to me 
equal to a refined conversation ; there is nothing of 
which I am so much enamoured as wisdom." 
" Wisdom !" replied his instructor, " how ridi- 
culous ! We have no wisdom here, for we have 
no occasion for it ; true wisdom is only a know- 
ledge of our own duty, and the duty of others to 
us ; but of what use is such wisdom here ? each in- 
tuitively performs what is right in himself, and 
expects the same from others ! If by wisdom you 
should mean vain curiosity, and empty speculation, 
as such pleasures have their origin in vanity, lux- . 
ury, or avarice, we are too good to pursue them." 
" All this may be right," says Asem ; " but me- 
thinks I observe a solitary disposition prevail 
among the people ; each family keeps separately 
within their own precincts, without society, or 
without intercourse." " That indeed is true," re- 
plied the other : " here is no established society ; 



ASEM, AN EASTERN TALE. 29 

nor should there be any: all societies are made 
either through fear or friendship : the people we 
are among are too good to fear each other ; and 
there are no motives to private friendship where all 
are equally meritorious." " Well, then," said the 
sceptic, " as 1 am to spend my time here, if I am 
to have neither the polite arts, nor wisdom, nor 
friendship, in such a world, I should be glad at 
least of an easy companion, who may tell me his 
thoughts, and to whom I may communicate mine." 
" And to what purpose should either do this ?" 
says the genius : " flattery or curiosity are vicious 
motives, and never allowed of here ; and wisdom is 
out of the question." 

" Still, however,'* said Asem, " the inhabitants 
must be happy; each is contented with his own 
possessions, nor avariciously endeavours to heap up 
more than is necessary for his own subsistence : 
each has therefore leisure for pitying those that 
stand in need of his compassion. , ' He had scarcely 
spoken, when his ears were assaulted with the la- 
mentations of a wretch who sat by the way side, 
and in the most deplorable distress seemed gently 
to murmur at his own misery. Asem immediately 
ran to his relief, and found him in the last stage of 
a consumption. " Strange," cried the son of Adam, 
" that men who are free from vice should thus 
suffer so much misery without relief ! " Be not 
* surprised," said the wretch who was dying ; " would 
it not be the utmost injustice for beings, who have 
only just sufficient to support themselves, and are 
content with a bare subsistence, to take it from 
their own mouths to put it into mine ? They never 
are possessed of a single meal more than is neces- 



30 goldsmith's essays. 

sary; and what is barely necessary cannot be dis- 
pensed with/' " They should have been supplied 
with more than is necessary/* cried Asem; " and 
yet I contradict my own opinion but a moment be - 
fore : all is doubt, perplexity, and confusion. Even 
the want of ingratitude is no virtue here, since they 
never received a favour. They have, however, an- 
other excellence yet behind ; the love of their coun- 
try is still I hope one of their darling virtues." 
" Peace, Asem," replied, the guardian, with a 
countenance not less severe than beautiful, " nor 
forfeit all thy pretensions to wisdom; the same 
selfish motives by which we prefer our own interest 
to that of others, induce us to regard our country 
preferably to that of another. Nothing less than 
universal benevolence is free from vice, and that 
you see is practised here." " Strange!" cries 
the disappointed pilgrim, in an agony of distress ; 
what sort of a world am I now introduced to ? 
There is scarcely a single virtue, but that of tem- 
perance, which they practise ; and in that they are 
no way superior to the very brute creation. There 
is scarcely an amusement which they enjoy; forti- 
tude, liberality, friendship, wisdom, conversation, 
and love of country, all are virtues entirely unknown 
here : thus it seems, that to be unacquainted with 
vice is not to know virtue. Take me, O my genius, 
back to that very world which I have despised ; a 
world which has Alia for its contriver is much 
more wisely formed than that which has been pro- 
jected by Mahomet. Ingratitude, contempt, and 
hatred, I can now suffer, for perhaps I have de- 
served them. When I arraigned the wisdom of 
Providence, I only showed my own ignorance ; 



ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY. ' 31 

henceforth let me keep from vice myself, and pity 
it in others." 

He had scarcely ended, when the genius, assu- 
ming an air of terrible complacency, called all his 
thunders around him, and vanished in a whirlwind. 
Asem, astonished at the terror of the scene, looked 
for his imaginary world ; when, casting his eyes 
around, he perceived himself in the very situation, 
and in the very place, where he first began to re- 
pine and despair ; his right foot had been just ad- 
vanced to take the fatal plunge, nor had it been 
yet withdrawn ; so instantly did Providence strike 
the series of truths just imprinted on his soul. He 
now departed from the water-side in tranquillity, 
and, leaving his horrid mansion, travelled to Seges- 
tan, his native city, where he diligently applied 
himself to commerce, and put in practice that wis- 
dom he had learned in solitude. The frugality of 
a few years soon produced opulence ; the number 
of his domestics increased ; his friends came to 
him from every part of the city ; nor did he receive 
them with disdain : and a youth of misery was 
concluded with an old age of elegance, affluence, 
and ease. 



IV. 

ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY, AND POPULAR 
PREACHERS. 

It is allowed on all hands, that our English divines 
receive a more liberal education, and improve that 
education by frequent study, more than any others 



L 



32 goldsmith's essays. 

of this reverend profession in Europe. In general 
also it may be observed, thai a greater degree of 
gentility is affixed to the character of a student in 
England than elsewhere ; by which means our 
clergy have an opportunity of seeing better company 
while young, and of sooner wearing off those pre- 
judices which they are apt to imbibe even in the 
best regulated universities, and which may be 
justly termed the vulgar errors of the wise. 

Yet with all these advantages, it is very obvious, 
that the clergy are no where so little thought of by 
the populace, as here ; and though our divines are 
foremost with respect to abilities, yet they are 
found last in the effects of their ministry ; the vul- 
gar in general appearing no way impressed with a 
sense of religious duty. I am not for whining at 
the depravity of the times, or for endeavouring to 
paint a prospect more gloomy than in nature ; but 
certain it is, no person who has travelled will con- 
tradict me, w T hen I aver, that the lower orders of 
mankind in other countries testify- on every occa- 
sion the profoundest awe of religion ; while in Eng- 
land they are scarcely awakened into a sense of 
its duties, even in circumstances of the greatest 
distress. 

This dissolute and fearless conduct foreigners are 
apt to attribute to climate and constitution : may 
not the vulgar, being pretty much neglected in our 
exhortations from the pulpit, be a conspiring cause? 
Our divines seldom stoop to their mean capacities ; 
and they who want instruction most, find least in 
our religious assemblies. 

Whatever may become of the higher orders of 
mankind, who are generally possessed of collateral 



ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY. 33 

motives to virtue, the vulgar should be particularly 
regarded, whose behaviour in civil life is totally 
hinged upon their hopes and fears. Those who con- 
stitute the basis of the great fabric of society should 
be particularly regarded; for in policy, as in archi- 
tecture, ruin is most fatal when it begins from the 
bottom. 

Men of real sense and understanding prefer a 
prudent mediocrity to a precarious popularity;' 
and, fearing to outdo their duty, leave it half done. 
Their discourses from the pulpit are generally dry, 
methodical, and unaffecting; delivered with the 
most insipid calmness ; insomuch, that, should the 
peaceful preacher lift his head over the cushion, 
which alone he seems to address, he might discover 
his audience, instead of being awakened to remorse, 
actually sleeping over his methodical and laboured 
composition. 

This method of preaching is however by some 
called an address to reason, and not to the pas- 
sions ; this is styled the making of converts from 
conviction: but such are indifferently acquainted 
with human nature, who are not sensible, that men 
seldom reason about their debaucheries till they 
are committed ; reason is but a weak antagonist 
when headlong passion dictates : in all such cases 
we should arm one passion against another r it is 
with the human mind as in nature ; from the mix-, 
ture of two opposites the result is most frequently 
neutral tranquillity. Those, who attempt to reason 
us out of our follies, begin at the wrong end, since 
the attempt naturally presupposes us capable of 
reason ; but to be made capable of this is one great 
point of the cure. 

c 2 



34 goldsmith's essays. 

There are but few talents requisite to become a 
popular preacher, for the people are easily pleased 
if they perceive any endeavours in the orator to 
please them ; the meanest qualifications will work 
this effect, if the preacher sincerely sets about it. 
Perhaps little indeed, very little more is required, 
than sincerity and assurance ; and a becoming sin- 
cerity is always certain of producing a becoming 
assurance. " Si vis me flere, dolendum est primum 
tibi ipsi," is so trite a quotation, that it almost de- 
mands an apology to repeat it; yet, though ail 
allow the justice of the remark, how few do we 
find put it in practice ! our orators, with the most 
•faulty bashfulness, seem impressed rather with an 
awe^f their audience than with a just respect for 
the truths they are about to deliver ; they, of all 
professions, seem the most bashful, who have the 
greatest right to glory in their commission. 

The French preachers generally assume all the 
dignity which becomes men who are ambassadors 
from Christ : the English divines, like erroneous 
envoys, seem more solicitous not to offend the court 
to which they are sent, than to drive home the in- 
terest of their employer. The bishop of Massillon, 
in the first sermon he ever preached, found the 
whole audience, upon his getting into the pulpit, 
in a disposition no way favourable to his inten- 
tions ; their nods, whispers, or drowsy behaviour, 
showed him that there was no great profit to be 
expected from his sowing in a soil so improper ; 
however, he soon changed the disposition of his 
audience by his manner of beginning. " If," says 
he, " a cause, the most important that could be con- 
ceived, were to be tried at the bar before qualified 



ON THE ENGLISH CLERGY. 35 

judges ; if this cause. in teres ted ourselves in parti- 
cular ; if the eyes of the whole kingdom were fixed 
upon the event ; if the most eminent counsel were 
employed on both sides ; and if we had heard from 
our infancy of this yet undetermined trial j would 
you not all sit with due attention, and warm ex- 
pectation, to the pleadings on each side ? Would 
not all your hopes and fears be hinged upon the 
final decision ? And yet, let me tell you, you have 
this moment a cause of much greater importance 
before you ; a cause where not one nation, but all 
the world, are spectators ; tried not before a fal- 
lible tribunal, but the awful throne of Heaven ; 
where not your temporal and transitory interests 
are the subject of debate, but your eternal happi- 
ness or misery, where the cause is still undeter- 
mined ; but perhaps, the very moment I am speak- 
ing may fix the irrevocable decree that shall last 
for ever ; and yet, notwithstanding all this, you can 
hardly sit with patience to hear the tidings of jour 
own salvation ; I plead the cause of Heaven, and I 
am scarcely attended to, &C." 

The style, the abruptness of a beginning like this, 
in the closet would appear absurd ; but in the pul- 
pit it is attended with the most lasting impressions ; 
that style, which in the closet might justly be called 
flimsy, seems the true mode of eloquence here. 
I never read a fine composition, under the title of a 
sermon, that I do not think the author has mis- 
called his piece ; for the talents to be used in wri- 
ting well entirely differ from those of speaking 
well. The qualifications for speaking, as has been 
already observed, are easily acquired ; they are 
accomplishments which may be taken up by every 



36 goldsmith's essays. 

candidate who will be at the pains of stooping. 
Impressed with a sense of the truths he is about to 
deliver, a preacher disregards the applause or the 
contempt of his audience, and he insensibly assumes 
a just aud manly sincerity. With this talent alone 
we see what crowds are drawn around enthusiasts, 
even destitute of common sense ; what numbers 
converted to Christianity ! Folly may sometimes 
set an example for wisdom to practise ; and our 
regular divines may borrow instruction from even 
methodists, who go their circuits and preach prizes 
among the populace. Even Whitfield may be placed 
as a model to some of our young divines ; let them 
join to their own good sense his earnest manner of 
delivery. 

It will be perhaps objected, that by confining the 
excellencies of a preacher to proper assurance, 
earnestness, and openness of style, I make the 
qualifications too trifling for estimation : there will 
be something called oratory brought up on this oc- 
casion ; action, attitude, grace, elocution, may be 
repeated as absolutely necessary to complete the 
character; but let us not be deceived; common- 
sense is seldom swayed by fine tones, musical pe- 
riods, just attitudes, or the display of a white hand- 
kerchief ; oratorial behaviour, except in very able 
hands indeed, generally sinks into awkward and 
paltry affectation. 

It must be observed, however, that these rules 
are calculated only for him who would instruct the 
vulgar, who stand in most need of instruction ; to 
address philosophers, and to obtain the character 
of a polite preacher among the polite — a much 
more useless, though more sought-for character — 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 37 

requires a different method of proceeding. All I 
shall observe on this head is, to entreat the polemic 
divine, in his controversy with the Deists, to act 
rather offensively than to defend ; to push home the 
grounds of his belief, and the impracticability of 
theirs, rather than to spend time in solving the ob- 
jections of every opponent. * It is ten to one,' says 
a late writer on the art of war, ' but that the as- 
sailant, who attacks the enemy in his trenches, is 
always victorious.' 

Yet, upon the whole, our clergy might employ 
themselves more to the benefit of society, by de- 
clining all controversy, than by exhibiting even the 
profoundest skill in polemic disputes ; their con- 
tests with each other often turn on speculative tri- 
fles ; and their disputes with the Deists are almost 
at an end, since they can have no more than victory, 
and that they are already possessed of, as their 
antagonists have been driven into a confession of 
the necessity of revelation, or an open avowal of 
atheism. To continue the dispute longer would 
only endanger it ; the sceptic is ever expert at puz- 
zling a debate which he finds himself unable to con- 
tinue; " and, like an Olympic boxer, generally fights 
best when undermost.' 



V. 



A REVERIE AT THE BOAR S-HEAD TAVERN, EAST- 
CHEAP. 

The improvements w 7 e make in mental acquire- 
ments only render us each day more sensible of the 



m^mwm^rmm*^ \ 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 , I I i , i ii i i . . i . 1 1 1 . < 



38 goldsmith's essays. 

defects of our constitution ; with this in view there- 
fore, let us often recur to the amusements of youth 5 
endeavour to forget age and wisdom, and as far as 
innocence goes, be as much a boy as the best of 
them. 

Let idle declaimers mourn over the degeneracy 
of the age ; but in my opinion every age is the 
same. This I am sure of, that man in every season 
is a poor fretful being, with no other means" to 
escape the calamities of the times, but by endea- 
vouring to forget them ; for if he attempts to resist, 
he is certainly undone. If I feel poverty and pain, 
I am not so hardy as to quarrel with the execu- 
tioner, even while under correction ■ I find myself 
no way disposed to make fine speeches, while I am 
making wry faces. In a word, let me drink when 
the fit is on, to make me insensible; and drink 
when it is over, for joy that I feel pain no longer. 

The character of old Falstaff, even with all his 
faults, gives me more consolation than the most 
studied efforts of wisdom : I here behold an agree- 
able old fellow, forgetting age, and showing me 
the way to be young at sixty-five. Sure I am well 
able to be as merry, though not so comical as he — 
Is it not in my power to have, though not so much 
wit, at least as much vivacity ? — Age, care, wis- 
dom, reflection, begone — I give you to the winds. 
Let's have t'other bottle : here's to the memory of 
Shakspeare, Falstaff, and all the merry men of 
Eastcheap. 

Such were the reflections that naturally arose 
while I sat at the Boar's-head tavern, still kept at 
Eastcheap. Here, by a pleasant fire, in the very 
room where old sir John Falstaff cracked his jokes, 



■MM 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 39 

in the very chair which was sometimes honoured by 
prince Henry, and sometimes polluted by his immo- 
ral, merry companions ; Lsat and ruminated on the 
follies of youth ; wished to be young again ; but 
was resolved to make the best of life while it lasted, 
and now and then compared past and present times 
together. I considered myself as the only living 
representative of the old knight, and transported 
my imagination back to the times when the prince 
and he gave life to the revel, and made even de- 
bauchery not disgusting. The room also conspired 
to throw my reflections back into antiquity : the 
oak floor, the Gothic windows, and the ponderous 
chimney-piece, had long withstood the tooth of 
time ; the watchman had gone twelve ; my compa- 
nions had all stolen off; and none now remained 
with me but the landlord. From him I could have 
wished to know the history of a tavern, that had 
such a long succession of customers : I could not 
help thinking that an account of this kind would 
be a pleasing contrast of the manners of different 
ages ; but my landlord could give me no informa- 
tion. He continued to doze and sot, and tell a 
tedious story, as most other landlords usually do ; 
and, though he said nothing, yet was never silent : 
one good joke followed another good joke ; and 
the best joke of all was generally begun towards 
the end of a bottle. I found at last, however, his 
wine and his conversation operate by degrees : he 
insensibly began to alter his appearance. His cra- 
vat seemed quilled into a ruff, and his breeches 
swelled out into a fardingale. I now fancied him 
changing sexes ; and as my eyes began to close in 



4w goldsmith's essays. 

clumber, I imagined my fat landlord actually con- 
verted into as fat a landlady. However, sleep 
made but few changes in my situation ; the tavern, 
the apartment, and the table, continued as before 5 
nothing suffered mutation but my host, who w T as 
fairly altered into a gentlewoman, whom I knew to 
be dame Quickly, mistress of this tavern in the days 
of sir John ; and the liquor we were drinking, 
which seemed converted into sack and sugar. 

" My dear Mrs. Quickly/' cried I (for I knew 
her perfectly well at first sight) "I am heartily glad 
to see you. How have you left Falstaff, Pistol, 
and the rest of our friends below stairs ? Brave 
and hearty I hope \" "In good sooth," replied she, 
" he did deserve to live for ever ; but he maketh 
foul work on't where he hath flitted. Queen Pro- 
serpine and he have quarrelled for his attempting a 
rape upon her divinity ; and were it not that she 
still had bowels of compassion, it more than seems 
probable he might have been now sprawling in 
Tartarus." 

1 now found that spirits still preserve the frailties 
of the flesh ; and that, according to the laws of cri- 
ticism and dreaming, ghosts have been known to 
be guilty of even more than platonic affection : 
w r herefore, as I found her too much moved on such 
a topic to proceed, I was resolved to change the 
subject ; and desiring she would pledge me in a 
bumper, observed with a sigh, that our sack was 
nothing now to what it was in former days : " Ah, 
Mrs. Quickly, those were merry times when you 
drew sack for prince Henry; men were twice as 
strong, and twice as wise, and much braver, and 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 41 

ten thousand times more charitable than now. 
Those were the times ! The battle of Agincourt was 
a victory indeed ! Ever since that we have only 
been degenerating ; and I have lived to see the day 
when drinking is no longer fashionable. When 
men wear clean shirts, and women show their necks 
and arms : all are degenerated, Mrs. Quickly ; and 
we shall probably, in another century, be frittered 
away into beaus or monkeys. Had you been on 
earth to see what I have seen, it would congeal 
all the blood in your body (your soul I mean.) 
Why, our very nobility now have the intolerable 
arrogance, in spite of what is every day remon- 
strated from the press; our very nobility, I say, 
have the assurance to frequent assemblies, and pre- 
sume to be as merry as the vulgar. See, my very 
friends have scarcely manhood enough to sit to it 
till eleven ; and I only am left to make a night on't. 
Pr'ythee do me the favour to console me a little for 
their absence by the story of your own adventure, 
or the history of the tavern where we are now 
sitting : I fancy the narrative may have something 
singular." 

" Observe this apartment," interrupted my com- 
panion, " of neat device and excellent workmanship 
— In this room I have lived, child, woman, and 
ghost, more than three hundred years : I am ordered 
by Pluto to keep an annual register of every trans- 
action that passeth here ; and I have whilom com- 
piled three hundred tomes, which eftsoons may be 
submitted to thy regards." — " None of your whi- 
loms or eftsoons, Mrs. Quickly, if you please," I 
replied; " I know you can talk every whit as well as 
I can ; for, as you have lived here so long, it is but 



42 goldsmith's essays." 

natural to suppose you should learn the conversa- 
tion of the company. Believe me, dame, at best, 
you have neither too much sense, nor too much 
language to spare ; so give me both as well as you 
•can ; but first my service to you : old women should 
water their clay a little now and then ; and now to 
your story." 

" The story of my own adventures," replied the 
vision, " is but short and unsatisfactory ; for believe 
me, Mr. Rigmarole, believe me, a woman w T ith a 
butt of sack at her elbow- is never long-lived. -Sir 
John's death afflicted me to such a degree, that I 
sincerely believe, to drown sorrow, I drank more 
liquor myself than I drew for my customers ; my 
grief was sincere, and the sack was excellent. The 
prior of a neighbouring convent (for our priors then 
had as much power as a Middlesex justice now) he, 
I say, it was who gave me a licence for keeping a 
disorderly house ; upon conditions I should never 
make hard bargains with the clergy, that he should 
have a bottle of sack every morning, and the liberty 
of confessing which of my girls he thought proper 
in private every night. I had continued for several 
years to pay this tribute ; and he, it must be con- 
fessed, continued as rigorously to exact it. I grew 
old insensibly ; my customers continued, however, 
to compliment my looks while I was by, but I could 
hear them say I was wearing, when my back was 
turned. The prior however still was constant, and 
so were half his convent ; but one fatal morning 
he missed the usual beverage ; for I had incautiously 
drank over-night the last bottle myself. What will 
you have on't ? The very next day Doll Tearsheet 
and I were sent to the house of correction, and 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 43 

accused of keeping a low bawdy-house. In short, 
we were so well purified there with stripes, morti- 
fication, and penance, that we were afterwards ut- 
terly unfit for worldly conversation : though sack 
would have killed me, had I stuck to it; yet I 
soon died for want of a drop of something comfort- 
able, and fairly left my body to the care of the 
beadle. 

" Such is my own history ; but that of the tavern, 
where I have ever since been stationed, affords 
greater variety. In the history of this, which is 
one of the oldest in London, you may view the dif- 
ferent manners, pleasures, and follies, of men at 
different periods. You will find mankind neither 
better nor worse now than formerly: the vices of 
an uncivilized people are generally more detestable, 
though not so frequent, as those in polite society. 
It is the same luxury, which formerly stuffed your 
alderman with plum-porridge, and now crams him 
with turtle. It is the same low ambition, that for- 
merly induced a courtier to give up his religion to 
please his king, and now persuades him to give up 
his conscience to please his minister. It is the 
same vanity, that formeily stained our ladies' cheeks 
and necks with woad, and now paints them with 
carmine. Your ancient Briton formerly powdered 
his hair with red earth, like brick-dust, in order to 
appear frightful : your modern Briton cuts his hair 
on the crown, and plasters it with hogs-lard and 
flour ; and this to make him look killing. It is the 
same vanity, the same folly, and the same vice, only 
appearing different, as viewed through the glass of 
fashion. In a word, all mankind are a " 

" Sure the woman is dreaming/' interrupted I. 



44 goldsmith's essays. 

" None of your reflections, Mrs. Quickly, if you 
love me ; they only give me the spleen. Tell me 
your history at once. I love stories, but hate rea- 
soning/' 

" If you please then, sir/' returned my companion, 
" I'll read you an abstract, which [ made of the 
three hundred volumes I mentioned just now. 

" My body was no sooner laid in the dust, than 
the prior and several of his convent came to purify 
the tavern from the pollutions with which they said 
I had filled it. Masses were said in every room, 
reliques were exposed upon every piece of furniture, 
and the whole house washed with a deluge of holy 
water. My habitation was soon converted into a 
monastery : instead of customers now applying for 
sack and sugar, my rooms were crowded with im- 
ages, reliques, saints, whores, and friars. Instead of 
being a scene of occasional debauchery, it was now 
filled with continual lewdness. The prior led the 
fashion, and the whole convent imitated his pious 
example. Matrons came hither to confess their 
sins, and to commit new. Virgins came hither who 
seldom went virgins away. Nor was this a convent 
peculiarly wicked ; every convent at that period 
was equally fond of pleasure, and gave a boundless 
loose to appetite. The laws allowed it ; each priest 
had a right to a favourite companion, and a power 
of discarding her as often as he pleased. The laity 
grumbled, quarrelled with their wives and daugh- 
ters, hated their confessors, and maintained them 
in opulence and ease. These, these, were happy 
times, Mr. Rigmarole ; these were times of piety, 
bravery, and simplicity V — " Not so very happy 
neither, good madam ! pretty much like the present ; 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR J S HEAD. 45 

those that labour starve ; and those that do nothing 
wear fine clothes, and live in luxury. 5 ' 

<( In this manner the fathers lived for some yeltrs 
without molestation ; they transgressed, confessed 
themselves to each other, and were forgiven. One 
evening, however, our prior keeping a lady of di- 
stinction somewhat too long at confession, her hus- 
band unexpectedly came upon them, and testified 
all the indignation which was natural upon such an 
occasion. The prior assured the gentleman, that it 
was the devil who put it into his heart ; and the 
lady was very certain that she was under the in- 
fluence of magic, or she could never have behaved 
in so unfaithful a manner. The husband, however, 
was not to be put off by such evasions, but sum- 
moned both before the tribunal of justice. His 
proofs were flagrant, and he expected large da- 
mages. Such indeed he had a right to expect, were 
the tribunals of those days constituted in the same 
manner as they are now. The cause of the priest 
was to be tried before an assembly of priests ; and 
a layman was to expect redress only from their 
impartiality and candour. What plea then do you 
think the prior made to obviate this accusation ? 
He denied the fact, and challenged the plaintiff to 
try the merits of their cause by single combat. It 
was a little hard, you may be sure, upon the poor 
gentleman, not only to be made a cuckold, but to 
be obliged to fight a duel into the bargain; yet 
such was the justice of the times. The prior threw 
down his glove, and the injured husband was obli- 
ged to take it up, in token- of his accepting the 
challenge. Upon this the priest supplied his 
champion, for it was not lawful for the clergy to 



£6 goldsmith's essays. 

fight ; and the defendant and plaintiff, according to 
custom, were put in prison ; both ordered to fast 
and pray, every method being previously used to 
induce both to a confession of the truth. After a 
month's imprisonment, the hair of each was cut, 
the bodies anointed with oil, the field of battle ap- 
pointed and guarded by soldiers, while his majesty 
presided over the whole in person. Both the 
champions were sworn not to seek victory either by 
fraud or magic. They prayed and confessed upon 
their knees ; and after these ceremonies the rest 
was left to the courage and conduct of the comba- 
tants. As the champion whom the prior had pitched 
upon had fought six or eight times upon similar oc- 
casions, it was no way extraordinary to find him 
victorious in the present combat. In short, the 
husband was discomfited ; he was taken from the 
field of battle, stripped to his shirt, and after one 
of his legs had been cut off, as justice ordained in 
such cases, he was hanged as a terror to future 
offenders. These, these were the times, Mr. Rig- 
marole ; you see how much more just, and wise, 
and valiant, our ancestors were than us." — " I rather 
fancy, madam, that the times then were pretty 
much like our own : where a multiplicity of laws 
gives a judge as much power as a want of law ; 
since he is ever sure to find among the number 
some to countenance his partiality." 

" Our convent, victorious over their enemies, now 
gave a loose to every demonstration of joy. The 
lady became a nun, the prior was made a bishop, 
and three Wicklifiites were burned in the illumina- 
tions and fire- works that were made on the present 
occasion. Our convent now began to enjoy a very 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 47 

high degree of reputation. There was not one in 
London that had the character of hating heretics so 
much as ours. Ladies of the first distinction chose 
from our convent their confessors ; in short, it flou- 
rished, and might have flourished to this hour, but 
for a fatal accident which terminated in its over- 
throw. The lady, whom the prior had placed in a 
nunnery, and whom he continued to visit for some 
time with great punctuality, began at last to per- 
ceive that she was quite forsaken. Secluded from 
conversation, as usual, she now entertained the vi- 
sions of a devotee, found herself strangely dis- 
turbed, but hesitated in determining whether she 
was possessed by an angel or a demon. She was 
not long in suspense ; for upon vomiting a large 
quantity of crooked pins, and finding the palms of 
her hands turned outwards, she quickly concluded 
that she was possessed by the devil. She soon lost 
entirely the use of speech ; and when she seemed 
to speak, eveiy body that was present perceived 
that her voice was not her own, but that of the devil 
within her. In short, she was bewitched ; and all 
the difficulty lay in determining who it could be 
that bewitched her. The nuns and the monks all 
demanded the magician's name, but the devil made 
no reply ; for he knew they had no authority to ask 
questions. By the rules of witchcraft, when an evil 
spirit has taken possession, he may refuse to answer 
any questions asked him, unless they are put by a 
bishop, and to these he is obliged to reply. A bishop 
therefore was sent for, and now the whole secret 
came out : the devil reluctantly owned that he was 
a servant of the prior ; that by his command he re- 
sided in his present habitation, and that without his 



48 goldsmith's essays. 

command he was resolved to keep in possession. 
The bishop was an able exorcist ; he drove the devil 
out by force of mystical arms ; the prior was ar- 
raigned for witchcraft ; the witnesses were strong 
and numerous against him, not less than fourteen 
persons being by, who heard the devil talk Latin. 
There was no resisting such a cloud of witnesses ; 
the prior was condemned ; and he who had assisted 
at so many burnings, was burned himself in turn. 
These were times, Mr. Rigmarole : the people of 
those times were not infidels, as now, but sincere 
believers !" — " Equally faulty with ourselves : they 
believed what the devil was pleased to tell them ; 
and we seem resolved at last to believe neither God 
nor devil." 

" After such a stain upon the convent, it was not 
to be supposed it could subsist any longer ; the fa- 
thers were ordered to decamp, and the house was 
once again converted into a tavern. The king con- 
ferred it on one of his cast mistresses ; she was con- 
stituted landlady by royal authority ; and as the ta- 
vern was in the neighbourhood of the court, and the 
mistress a very polite woman, it began to have more 
business than ever, and sometimes took not less 
than four shillings a day. 

" But perhaps you are desirous of knowing what 
were the peculiar qualifications of a woman of fa- 
shion at that period ; and in a description of the 
present landlady you will have a tolerable idea of 
all the rest. This lady w T as the daughter of a noble- 
man, and received such an education in the coun- 
try as became her quality, beauty, and great expec- 
tations. She could make shifts and hose for her- 
self and all the servants of the family when she was 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 49 

twelve years old. She knew the names of the four 
and twenty letters, so that it was impossible to be- 
witch her ; and this was a greater piece of learning 
than any lady in the whole country could pretend 
to. She was always up early, and saw breakfast 
served in the great hall by six o'clock. At this 
scene of festivity she generally improved good hu- 
mour, by telling her dreams, relating stories of 
spirits, several of which she herself had seen ; and 
one of which she was reported to have killed with 
a blaek-hafted knife. Hence she usually went to 
make pastry in the larder, and here she was fol- 
lowed by her sweethearts, who were much helped 
on in conversation by struggling with her for kisses. 
About ten miss generally w T ent to play at hot-cockles 
and blindman's buff in the parlour ; and when the 
young folks (for they seldom played at hot- cockles 
when grown old) were tired of such amusements, 
the gentlemen entertained miss with the history of 
their greyhounds, bear-baitings, and victories at 
cudgel-playing. If the weather was fine, they ran 
at the ring, shot at butts ; while miss held in her 
hand a ribbon, with which she adorned the con- 
queror. Her mental qualifications were exactly 
fitted to her external accomplishments. Before 
she was fifteen, she could tell the story of Jack the 
Giant Killer, could name every mountain that was 
inhabited by fairies, knew a witch at first sight, and 
could repeat four Latin prayers without a prompter. 
Her dress was perfectly fashionable ; her arms and 
her hair were completely covered ; a monstrous ruff 
was put round her neck, so that her head seemed 
like that of John the Baptist placed in a charger. 
In short, when completely equipped, her appear- 



50 goldsmith's essays. 

ance was so very modest, that she discovered little 
more than her nose. These were the times, Mr. 
Rigmarole, when every lady that had a good nose 
might set up for a beauty; when every woman that 
could tell stories might be cried up for a wit."— " I 
am as much displeased at those dresses which con- 
ceal too much, as at those which discover too much i 
I am equally an enemy to a female dunce or a female 
pedant." 

" You maybe sure that miss chose a husband with 
qualifications resembling her own ; she pitched 
upon a courtier, equally remarkable for hunting and 
drinking, who had given several proofs of his great 
virility among the daughters of his tenants and do- 
mestics. They fell in love at first sight (for such 
was the gallantry of the times) were married, came 
to court, and madam appeared with superior quali- 
fications. The king was struck with her beauty. 
All property was at the king's command ; the hus- 
band was obliged to resign all pretensions in his 
wife to the sovereign, whom God had anointed to 
commit adultery where he thought proper. The 
king loved her for some time ; but at length re- 
penting of his misdeeds, and instigated by his father- 
confessor, from a principle of conscience removed 
her from his levee to the bar of this tavern, and 
took a new mistress in her stead. Let it not sur- 
prise you to behold the mistress of a king degraded 
to so humble an office. As the ladies had no men- 
tal accomplishments, a good face was enough to 
raise them to the royal couch ; and she, who was 
this day a royal mistress, might the next, when her 
beauty palled upon enjoyment, be doomed to infamy 
and want. 



REVERIE AT THE EOAR'S HEAD. 51 

i( Under the care of this lady the tavern grew into 
great reputation ; the courtiers had not yet learned 
to game, but they paid it off by drinking : drunken- 
ness is- ever the vice of a barbarous, and gaming of 
a luxurious age. They had not such frequent en- 
tertainments as the moderns have, but were more 
expensive and more luxurious in those they had. 
All their fooleries were more elaborate, and more 
admired by the great and the vulgar than now. A 
courtier has been known to spend his whole fortune 
at a single feast, a king to mortgage his dominions 
to furnish out the frippery of a tournament. There 
were certain days appointed for riot and debauchery, 
and to be sober at such times was reputed a crime. 
Kings themselves set the example ; and I have seen 
monarchs in this room drunk before the entertain- 
ment was half concluded. These were the times, 
sir, when kings kept mistresses, and got drunk in 
public ; they were too plain and simple in those 
happy times to hide their vices, and act the hypo- 
crite, as now." — "Lord ! Mrs. Quickly," interrupt- 
ing her, " I expected to have heard a story, and here 
you are going to tell me I know not what of times 
and vices ; pr'ythee let me entreat thee once more 
to wave reflections, and give thy history without 
deviation." 

" No lady upon earth," continued my visionary 
correspondent, " knew how to put off her damaged 
wine or women with more art than she. When 
these grew flat, or those paltry, it was but changing 
the names ; the wine became excellent, and the 
girls agreeable. She was also possessed of the en- 
gaging leer, the chuck under the chin, winked at a 
double-entendre, could nick the opportunity of call- 



52 goldsmith's essays. 

ing for something comfortable, and perfectly under- 
stood the discreef moments when to withdraw, 
The gallants of these times pretty much resembled 
the bloods of ours ; they were fond of pleasure, but 
quite ignorant of the art of refining upon it ; thus a 
court-bawd of those times resembled the common 
low-lived harridan of a modern bagnio. Witness, 
ye powers of debauchery, how often I have been 
present at the various appearances of drunkenness, 
riot, guilt, and brutality ! A tavern is the true pic- 
ture of human infirmity : in history we find only 
one side of the age exhibited to our view ; but in 
the accounts of a tavern we see every age equally 
absurd and equally vicious. 

i( Upon this lady's decease, the tavern was succes. 
sively occupied by adventurers, bullies, pimps, and 
gamesters. Towards the conclusion of the reign of 
Henry VII. gaming was more universally practised 
in England than even now. Kings themselves have 
been known to play off at primero, not only all the 
money and jewels they could part with, but the 
very images in churches. The last Henry played 
away, in this very room, not only the four great 
bells of St. Paul's cathedral, but the fine image of 
St. Paul, which stood upon the top of the spire, to 
Sir Miles Partridge, who took them down the next 
day, and sold them by auction. Have you then 
any cause to regret being born in the times you now 
live? or do you still believe that human nature 
continues to run on declining every age ? If we ob- 
serve the actions of the busy part of mankind, your 
ancestors will be found infinitely more gross, servile, 
and even dishonest, than you. If, forsaking his- 
tory, we only trace them in their hours of amuse- 



REVERIE AT THE BOAR'S HEAD. 53 

ment and dissipation, we shall find them more sen- 
sual, more entirely devoted to pleasure, and in- 
finitely more selfish. 

- " The last hostess of note I find upon record was 
Jane Rouse. She was born among the lower ranks 
of the people ; and by frugality and extreme com- 
plaisance contrived to acquire a moderate fortune : 
this she might have enjoyed for many years, had 
she not unfortunately quarrelled with one of her 
neighbours, a woman who was in high repute for 
sanctity through the whole parish. In the times of 
which I speak, two women seldom quarrelled that 
one did not accuse the other of witchcraft, and she 
who first contrived to vomit crooked pins was sure 
to come off victorious. The scandal of a modern 
tea-table differs widely from the scandal of former 
times : the fascination of a lady's eyes at present is 
regarded as a compliment ; but if a lady formerly 
should be accused of having witchcraft in her eyes, 
it were much better both for her soul and body that 
she had no eyes at all. 

" In short, Jane Rouse was accused of witchcraft ; 
and though she made the best defence she could, it 
was all to no purpose ; she was taken from her own 
bar to the bar of the Old Bailey, condemned, and 
executed accordingly. These were times indeed ! 
when even women could not scold in safety. 

" Since her time, the tavern underwent several 
revolutions, according to the spirit of the times, or 
the disposition of the reigning monarch. It was this 
day a brothel, and the next a conventicle for enthu- 
siasts. It was one year noted for harbouring Whigs, 
and the next infamous for a retreat to Tories. Some 
years ago it was in high vogue, but at present it 



54 goldsmith's essays. 

seems declining. This only may be remarked in 
general, that whenever taverns flourish most, the 

times are the most extravagant and luxurious. " 

" Lord ! Mrs. Quickly," interrupted I, " you have 
really deceived me : I expected a romance, and here 
you have been this half hour giving me only a de- 
scription of the spirit of the times : if you have no- 
thing but tedious remarks to communicate, seek 
some other hearer; I am determined to hearken 
only to stories/' 

I had scarcely concluded, when my eyes and ears 
seemed open to my landlord, who had been all this 
while giving me an account of the repairs he had 
made in the house, and was now got into the story 
of the cracked glass in the dining-room. 



VI. 

ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 

I am fond of amusement in whatever company it is 
to be found ; and wit, though dressed in rags, is 
ever pleasing to me. I went some days ago to take 
a walk in St. James's Park, about the hour in which 
company leave it to go to dinner. There were but 
few in the walks, and those who stayed seemed by 
their looks rather more willing to forget that they 
had an appetite than gain one. I sat down on one 
of the benches, at the other end of which was 
seated a man in very shabby clothes. 

We continued to groan, to hem, and to cough, 
as usual upon such occasions, and at last ventured 
upon conversation. " I beg pardon, sir," cried I, 



ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. DO 

" but I think I have seen you before ; your face is 
familiar to me." — " Yes, sir," replied he, " I have 
a good familiar face, as my friends tell me. I am 
as well known in every town in England as the dro- 
medary or live crocodile. You must understand, 
sir, that I have been these sixteen years Merry 
Andrew to a puppet-show ; last Bartholomew fair 
my master and I quarrelled, beat each other, and 
parted ; he to sell his puppets to the pincushion- 
makers in Rosemary-lane, and I to starve in St. 
James's Park." 

" I am sorry, sir, that a person of your appear- 
ance should labour under any difficulties."—" O 
sir," returned he, " my appearance is very much at 
your service ; but though I cannot boast of eating 
much, yet there are few that are merrier : if I had 
twenty thousand a year I should be veiy merry ; 
and, thank the Fates, though not worth a groat, I 
am very merry still. If I have three-pence in my 
pocket, I never refused to be my three halfpence ; 
and if I have no money, I never scorn to be treated 
by any that are kind enough to pay my reckoning. 
What think you, sir, of a steak and a tankard? 
You shall treat me now ; and I will treat you again 
when I find you in the park in love with eating, 
and without money to pay for a dinner." 

As I never refuse a small expense for the sake of 
a merry companion, we instantly adjourned to a 
neighbouring ale-house, and in a few moments had 
a frothing tankard, and a smoking steak spread on 
the table before us. It is impossible to express how 
much the sight of such good cheer improved my 
companion's vivacity. " I- like this dinner, sir," 
says he, " for three reasons : first, because I am 



56 goldsmith's essays, 

naturally fond of beef ; secondly, because I am 
hungry ; and, thirdly and lastly, because I get it 
for nothing : no meat eats so sweet as that for 
which we do not pay." 

He therefore now fell-to, and his appetite seemed 
to correspond with his inclination. After dinner 
was over, he observed that the steak was tough ; 
" and yet, sir," returns he, "bad as it was, it seemed 
a rump-steak to me. O the delights of poverty 
and a good appetite ! We beggars are the very 
foundlings of nature; the rich she treats like an 
arrant step-mother; they are pleased with nothing ; 
cut a steak from what part you will, and it is in- 
supportably tough ; dress it up with pickles, and _ 
even pickles cannot procure them an appetite. But 
the whole creation is filled with good things for the 
beggar; Calvert's butt out-tastes Champagne, and 
Sedgeley's home-brewed excels Tokay. Joy, joy, 
my blood, though our estates lie no where, we have 
fortunes wherever we go. If an inundation sweeps 
away half the grounds of Cornwall, I am content ; 
. I have no lands there : if the stocks sink, that gives 
me no uneasiness ; I am no Jew." The fellow's viva- 
city, joined to his poverty, I own, raised my curio- 
sity to know something of his life and circumstances ; 
and I entreated that he would indulge my desire. — 
" That I will, sir," said he, " and welcome ; only let 
us drink to prevent our sleeping ; let us have another 
tankard while we are awake ; let us have another 
tankard ; for, ah, how charming a tankard looks 
when full ! 

" You must know, then, that I am very well de- 
scended ; my ancestors have made some noise in 
the world ; for my mother cried oysters, and my 



ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 57 

father beat a drum : I am told we have even had 
some trumpeters in our family. Many a nobleman 
cannot show so respectful a genealogy ; but that is 
neither here nor there : as I was their only child, 
my father designed to breed me up to his own em- 
ployment, which was that of a drummer to a pup- 
pet-show. Thus the whole employment of my 
younger years was that of interpreter to Punch 
and king Solomon in all his glory. But though 
my father was very fond of instructing me in beat- 
ing all the marches and points of war, I made no 
very great progress, because I naturally had no ear 
for music ; so at the age of fifteen I went and listed 
for a soldier. As I had ever hated beating a drum, 
so I soon found that I disliked carrying a musket 
also ; neither the one trade nor the other were to 
my taste, for I was by nature fond of being a gen- 
tleman ; besides, I was obliged to obey my captain ; 
he has his will, I have mine, and you have yours : 
now I very reasonably concluded, that it was much 
more comfortable for a man to obey his own will 
than another's. 

" The life of a soldier soon therefore gave me the 
spleen ; I asked leave to quit the service ; but as 
I was tall and strong, my captain thanked me for 
my kind intention, and said, because he had a 
regard for me, we should not part. I wrote to 
my father a very dismal penitent letter, and desired 
that he would raise money to pay for my discharge ; 
but the good man was as fond of drinking as I was 
(sir, my service to you) , and those who are fond of 
drinking never pay for other people's discharges : 
in short he never answered my letter. What could 
be done ? If I have not money, said I to myself, to 

d2 



53 goldsmith's essays. 

pay for my discharge, I must find an equivalent some 
other way : and that must be by running away. I 
deserted, and that answered my purpose every bit 
as well as if I had bought my discharge. 

" Well, I was now fairly rid of my military em- 
ployment ; I sold my soldier's clothes, bought worse, 
and, in order not to be overtaken, took the most 
unfrequented roads possible. One evening as I was 
entering a village, I perceived a man, whom I 
afterwards found to be the curate of the parish, 
thrown from his horse in a miry road, and almost 
smothered in the mud. He desired my assistance ; 
I gave it, and drew him out with some difficulty. 
He thanked me for my trouble, and was going off; 
but I followed him home, for I loved always to 
have a man thank me at his own door. The curate 
asked an hundred questions ; and whose son I was ; 
from whence I came ? and whether I would be faith- 
ful ? I answered him greatly to his satisfaction ; 
and gave myself one of the best characters in the 
world for sobriety, (sir, I have the honour of drink- 
ing your health) discretion, and fidelity. To make 
a long story short, he wanted a servant, and hired 
me. With him I lived but two months ; we did 
not much like each other ; I was fond of eating, 
and he gave me but little to eat ; I loved a pretty 
girl, and the old woman, my fellow servant, was Ul- 
natured and ugly. As they endeavoured to starve 
me between them, I made a pious resolution to 
prevent their committing murder ; I stole the eggs 
as soon as they were laid ; I emptied every un- 
finished bottle that I could lay my hands on ; what- 
ever eatable came in my way was sure to disappear ; 
in short, they found I would not do 5 so I was dis- 



ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 59 

charged one morning, and paid three shillings and 
sixpence for two months' wages. 

" While my money was getting ready, I employ- 
ed myself in making preparations for my depar- 
ture ; two hens were hatching in an out-house, I 
went and took the eggs from habit, and not to sepa- 
rate the parents from the children, I lodged hens 
and all in my knapsack. After this piece of fru- 
gality, I returned to receive my money, and with 
my knapsack on my back, and a staff in my hand, 
I bid adieu with tears in my eyes to my old bene- 
factor. I had not gone far from the house, when I 
heard behind me the cry of stop thief I but this only 
increased my dispatch ; it would have been foolish 
to stop, as I knew the voice could not be levelled 
at me. But hold, I think I - passed those two 
months at the curate's without drinking. Come, the 
times are dry, and may this be my poison if ever 
I spent two more pious, stupid months, in all my 
life! 

" Well, after travelling some days, whom should 
I light upon but a company of strolling players. 
The moment I saw them at a distance my heart 
warmed to them ; I had a sort of natural love for 
every thing of the vagabond order : they were em- 
ployed in settling their baggage, which had been 
overturned in a narrow way ; I offered my assist- 
ance, which they accepted ; and we soon became 
so well acquainted, that they took me as a servant. 
This was a paradise to me ; they sung, danced, 
drank, eat, and travelled, all at the same time. By 
the blood of the Mirabels, I thought I had never 
lived till then. I grew as merry as a grig, and 
laughed at every word that was spoken. They 



60 goldsmith's essays. 

liked me as much as I liked them ; I was a very 
good figure, as you see ; and, though I was poor, I 
was not modest. 

" I love a straggling life above all things in the 
world ; sometimes good, sometimes bad ; to be 
warm to-day, and cold to-morrow; to eat when 
one can get it, and drink when (the tankard is out) 
it stands before me. We arrived that evening at 
Tenterden, and took a large room at the Grey- 
hound, where we resolved to exhibit Romeo and 
Juliet, with the funeral procession, the grave, and 
the garden-scene. Romeo was to be performed by 
a gentleman from the Theatre-Royal in Drury- 
lane; Juliet, by a lady who had never appeared 
on any stage before ; and I was to snuff the can- 
dles : all excellent in our way. We had figures 
enough, but the difficulty -was to dress them. The 
same coat that served Romeo, turned with a blue 
lining outwards, served for his friend Mercutio : a 
large piece of crape sufficed at once for Juliet's 
petticoat and pall : a pestle and mortar from a 
neighbouring apothecary's answered all the pur- 
poses of a bell; and our landlord's own family, 
wrapped in white sheets, served to fill up the pro- 
cession. In short, there were but three figures 
among us that might be said to be dressed with any 
propriety ; I mean the nurse, the starved apothe- 
cary, and myself. Our performance gave universal 
satisfaction : the whole audience were enchanted 
with our powers. 

" There is one rule by which a strolling-player 
may be ever secure of success ; that is, in our thea- 
trical way of expressing it, to make a great deal of 
the character. To speak and act as in common 



ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 61 

life, is not playing, nor is if; what people come to 
see ; natural speaking, like sweet wine, runs glibly 
over the palate, and scarcely leaves any taste be- 
hind it ; but being high in a part resembles vinegar, 
which grates upon the taste, and one feels it while 
he is drinking. To please in town or country, the 
way is to cry, wring, cringe into attitudes, mark 
the emphasis, slap the pockets, and labour like one 
in the falling sickness : that is the way to work for 
applause ; that is the way to gain it. 

" As we received much reputation for our skill 
on this first exhibition, it was but natural for me to 
ascribe part of the success to myself ; I snuffed the 
candles, and let me tell you, that without a candle- 
snuffer the piece would lose half its embellishments. 
In this manner we continued a fortnight, and drew 
tolerable houses ; but the evening before our in- 
tended departure, we gave out our very best piece, 
in which .all our strength was to be exerted. We 
had great expectations from this, and even doubled 
our prices, when behold one of the principal actors 
fell ill of a violent fever. This was a stroke like thun- 
der to our little company : they were resolved to go in 
a body, to scold the man for falling sick at so in- 
convenient a time, and that too of a disorder that 
threatened to be expensive ; I seized the moment, 
and offered to act the part myself in his stead. The 
case was desperate : they accepted my offer ; and I 
accordingly sat down, with the part in my hand 
and a tankard before me, (sir, your health), and 
studied the character, which was to be rehearsed 
the next day, and played soon after. 

" I found my memory excessively helped by drink- 
ing : I learned my part with astonishing rapidity* 



62 goldsmith's essays. 

and bid adieu to snuffing candles ever after. I 
found that nature had designed me for more noble, 
employments, and I was resolved to take her when 
in the humour. We got together in order to re- 
hearse: and I informed my companions, masters 
now no longer, of the surprising change I felt with- 
in me. Let the sick man, said I, be under no un- 
easiness to get well again; I'll fill his place to 
universal satisfaction ; he may even die if he 
thinks proper ; I'll engage that he shall never be 
missed. I rehearsed before them, strutted, rant- 
ed, and received applause. They soon gave out, 
that a new actor of eminence was to appear, 
and immediately all the genteel places were be- 
spoke. Before I ascended the stage, however, 
I concluded within myself, that, as I brought mo- 
ney to the house, I ought to have my share in the 
profits. Gentlemen, said I, addressing our com- 
pany, I don't pretend to direct you ; far be it from 
me to treat you with so much ingratitude : you 
have published my name in the bills with the ut- 
most good-nature, and as affairs stand, cannot act 
without me : so gentlemen, to show you my grati- 
tude, I expect to be paid for my acting as much as 
any of you, otherwise I declare off. I'll brandish 
my snuffers, and clip candles as usual. This was a 
very disagreeable proposal, but they found that it 
was impossible to refuse it ; it was irresistible, it 
was adamant : they consented, and I went on in 
king Bajazet : my frowning brows, bound with a 
stocking stuffed into a turban, while on my cap- 
tived arms I brandished a jack-chain. Nature 
seemed to have fitted me for the_part ; I was tall, 
and had a loud voice ; my very entrance excited 



ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 63 

universal applause ; I looked round on the audience 
with a smile, and made a most low and graceful 
bow, for that is the rule among us. As it was a 
very passionate part, I invigorated my spirits with 
three full glasses (the tankard is almost out) of 
brandy. By Alia ! it is .almost inconceivable how 
I went through it; Tamerlane was but a fool to 
me ; though he was sometimes loud enough too, 
yet I was still louder than he : but then, besides, I 
had attitudes in abundance : in general I kept my 
arms folded up thus, upon the pit of my stomach ; 
it is the way at Drury-lane, and has always a fine 
effect. The tankard would sink to the bottom be- 
fore I could get through the whole of my merits : 
in short, I came off like a prodigy ; and such was 
my success, that I could ravish the laurels even from 
a sirloin of beef. The principal gentlemen and la- 
dies of the town came to me, after the play was 
over, to compliment me upon my success ; one 
praised my voice, another my person. ' Upon my 
word/ says the squire's lady, ' he will make one of 
the finest actors in Europe ; I say it, and I think I 
am something of a judge.' Praise in the begin- 
ning is agreeable enough, and we receive it as a fa- 
vour ; but when it comes in great quantities, we 
regard it only as a debt, which nothing but our me- 
rit could extort : instead of thanking them, I inter- 
nally applauded myself. We were desired to give 
our piece a second time; we obeyed; and I was 
applauded even more than before. 

" At last we left the town, in order to be at a 
horse-race at some distance from thence. I shall 
never think of Tenterden without tears of grati- 
tude and respect. The ladies and gentlemen there, 



64 goldsmith's essays. 

take my word for it, are very good judges of plays 
and actors. Come, let us drink their healths, if 
you please, sir. We quitted the town, I say ; and 
there was a wide difference between my coining in 
and going out ; I entered the town a candle-snuffer, 

and I quitted it an hero! Such is the world; 

little to-day, and great to-morrow. I could say a 
great deal more upon that subject, something truly 
sublime, upon the ups and downs of fortune ; but it 
would give us both the spleen, and so I shall pass it 
over. 

" The races were ended before we arrived at the 
next town, which was no small disappointment to 
our company ; however, we were resolved to take all 
we could get. I played capital characters there too, 
and came off with my usual brilliancy. I sincerely 
believe I should have been the first actor of Europe, 
had my growing merit been properly cultivated ; 
but there came an unkindly frost which nipped me 
in the bud, and levelled me once more down to the 
common standard of humanity. I played sir Harry 
Wildair ; all the country ladies were charmed ; 
if I but drew out my snuff-box the whole house 
was in a roar of rapture ; when I exercised my 
cudgel, I thought they would have fallen into con- 
vulsions. 

" There was here a lady who had received an 
education of nine months in London ; and this 
gave her pretensions to taste, which rendered her 
the indisputable mistress of the ceremonies where- 
ever she came. She was informed of my merits ; 
every body praised me ; yet she refused at first go- 
ing to see me perforin ; she could not conceive, she 
said, any thing but stuff from a stroller; talked 



ADVENTURES OF A STROLLING PLAYER. 65 

something in praise of Garrick, and amazed the 
ladies with her skill in enunciations, tones, and ca- 
dences ; she was at last however prevailed upon to 
go ; and it was privately intimated to me what a 
judge w r as to be present at my next exhibition : 
however, no way intimidated, I came on in sir 
Harry, one hand stuck in my breeches, and the other 
in my bosom, as usual at Drury-lane ; but instead of 
looking at me, I perceived the whole audience had 
their eyes turned upon the lady who had been nine 
months in London ; from her they expected the de- 
cision which was to secure the general's truncheon 
in my hand, or sink me down into a theatrical let- 
ter-carrier. I opened my snuff-box, took snuff; 
the lady was solemn, and so were the rest ; I broke 
my cudgel on Alderman Smuggler's back ; still 
gloomy, melancholy all, the lady groaned and 
shrugged her shoulders. I attempted by laughing 
myself, to excite at least a smile, but the devil a 
cheek could I perceive wrinkled into sympathy : I 
found it would not do ; all my good-humour now 
became forced ; my laughter was converted into 
hysteric grinning; and while I pretended spirits, 
my eye showed the agony of my heart : in short, 
the lady came with an intention to be displeased, 
and displeased she was ; my fame expired ; I am 
here, and (the tankard is no more !)" 



66 goldsmith's essays. 



VII. 



RULES enjoined to be OBSERVED AT A RUSSIAN 
ASSEMBLY. 

When Catharina Alexowna was made empress of 
Russia, the women we're in an actual state of bond- 
age, but she undertook to introduce mixed assem- 
blies, as in other parts of Europe : -she altered the 
women's dress by substituting the fashions of Eng- 
land ; instead of furs, she brought in the use of taf- 
fety and damask ; and cornets and commodes in- 
stead of caps of sable. The women now found 
themselves no longer shut up in separate apart- 
ments, but saw company, visited each other, and 
were present at every entertainment. 

But as the laws to this effect were directed to a 
savage people, it is amusing enough, the manner in 
which the ordinances ran. Assemblies were quite 
unknown among them ; the czarina was satisfied 
with introducing them, for she found it impossible 
to render them polite. An ordinance was there- 
fore published according to their notions of breed- 
ing, which, as it is a curiosity, and has never before 
been printed that we know of, we shall give our 
readers. 

" I. The person at whose house the assembly is 
to be kept, shall signify the same by hanging out a 
bill, or by giving some other public notice, by way 
of advertisement, to persons of both sexes. 

Cl II. The assembly shall not be open sooner than 



RULES AT A RUSSIAN ASSEMBLY. 



07 



four or five o'clock in the afternoon, nor continue 
longer than ten at night. 

" III. The master of the house shall not be 
obliged to meet his guests, or conduct them out, or 
keep them company; but though he is exempt from 
all this, he is to find them chairs, candles, liquors, 
and all other necessaries that company may ask 
for ; he is likewise to provide them with cards, 
dice, and every necessary for gaming. 

i€ IV. There .shall be no fixed hour for coming 
or going away ; it is enough for a person to appear 
in the assembly. 

" V. Every one shall be free to sit, walk, or 
game as he pleases ; nor shall any one go about to 
hinder him, or take exceptions at what he does, 
upon pain of emptying the great eagle (a pint bowl 
full of brandy) : it shall likewise be sufficient, at 
entering or retiring, to salute the company. 

" VI. Persons of distinction, noblemen, superior 
officers, merchants, and tradesmen of note, head- 
workmen, especially carpenters, and persons em- 
ployed in chancery, are to have liberty to enter the 
assemblies ; as likewise their wives and children. 

" VII. A particular place shall be assigned the 
footmen, except those of the house, that there may 
be room enough in the apartments designed for the 
assembly. 

" VIII. No ladies are to get drunk upon any 
pretence whatsoever : nor shall gentlemen be drunk 
before nine. 

" IX. Ladies who play at forfeitures, questions 
and commands, &c. shall not be riotous ; no gen- 
tleman shall attempt to force a kiss, and no person 



68 goldsmith's essays. 

shall offer to strike a woman in the assembly, un- 
der pain of future exclusion." 

Such are the statutes upon this occasiou, which, 
in their very appearance, carry an air of ridicule 
and satire. But politeness must enter every coun- 
try by degrees ; and these rules resemble the breed- 
ing of a clown, awkward but sincere. 



VIII. 

BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN 
BY THE ORDINARY OF NEWGATE. 

Man is a most frail being, incapable of directing 
his steps, unacquainted with what is to happen in 
this life ; and perhaps no man is a more manifest 
instance of the truth of this maxim, than Mr. The. 
Cibber, just now gone out of the world. Such a 
variety of turns of fortune, yet such a persevering 
uniformity of conduct, appears in all that happen- 
ed in his short span, that the whole may be looked 
upon as one regular confusion : every action of his 
life was matter of wonder and surprise, and his 
death was an astonishment. 

This gentleman was born of creditable parents, 
who gave him a very good education, and a great 
deal of good learning, so that he could read and write 
before he was sixteen. However he early disco- 
vered an inclination to follow lewd courses; he 
refused to take the advice of his parents, and pur- 
sued the bent of his inclination : he played at cards 
on Sundays, called himself a gentleman; fell out 



BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR. 69 

with his mother and laundress ; and even in these 
early days his father was frequently heard to ob- 
serve, that young The. — would be hanged. 

As he advanced in years, he grew more fond of 
pleasure; would eat an ortolan for dinner, though 
he begged the guinea that bought it ; and was once 
known to give three pounds for a plate of green 
pease, which he had collected over-night as charity 
for a friend in distress : he ran into debt with every 
body that would trust him, and none could build a 
sconce better than he : so that at last his creditors 
swore with one accord that The. — would be 
hanged. 

But as getting into debt, by a man who had no 
visible means but impudence for subsistence, is a 
thing that every reader is not acquainted with, I 
must explain that point a little, and that to his sa- 
tisfaction. 

There are three ways of getting into debt ; first, 
by pushing a face ; as thus : " You, Mr. Lutestring, 
send me home six yards of that padi^soy, dammee; 
— but, harkee, don't think I ever intend to pay 
you for it, dammee." At this the mercer laughs 
heartily; cuts off the paduasoy, and sends it home ; 
nor is he, till too late, surprised to find the gentle- 
man had said nothing but truth, and kept his 
word. 

The second method of running into debt is call- 
ed fineering ; which is getting goods made up in 
such a fashion, as to be unfit for every other pur- 
chaser ; and if the tradesman refuses to give them 
credit, then threaten to leave them upon his 
hands. 

But the third and best method is called, " Being 



70 goldsmith's essays. 

the good customer." The gentleman first buys some 
trifle, and pays for it in ready money ; he comes a 
few days after with nothing about him but bank- 
bills, and buys, we will suppose, a six-penny 
tweezer- case ; the bills are too great to be changed, 
so he promises to return punctually the day 
after, and pay for what he has bought. In this 
promise he is punctual, and this is repeated for 
eight or ten times, till his face is well known, and 
he has got at last the character of a good customer. 
By this means he gets credit for something consider- 
able, and then never pays for it. 

In all this the young man, who is tire unhappy 
subject of our present reflections, was very expert ; 
and could face, fineer, and bring custom to a shop 
w r ith any man in England : none of his companions 
could exceed him in this ; and his very companions 
at last said that The. — would be hanged. 

As he grew old he grew never the better; he 
loved ortolans and green pease as before ; he drank 
gravy- soup w T hen he could get it, and always 
thought his oysters tasted best when he got them 
for nothing, or, which was just the same, when he 
bought them upon tick . thus the old man kept up 
the vices of the youth, and what he w r anted in 
power, he made up by iuclination ; so that all the 
world thought that old The. — would be hanged. 

And now, reader, I have brought him to his last 
scene ; a scene where perhaps my duty should have 
obliged me to assist. You expect, perhaps, his dy- 
ing words, and the tender farewell he took of his 
wife and children ; you expect an account of his 
coffin and white gloves, his pious ejaculations, and 
the papers he left behind him. In this I cannot in- 



ON NATIONAL CONCORD. 71 

dulge your curiosity*; for, oh ! the mysteries of 

Fate, The. was drowned ! 

" Reader," as Hervey saith, u pause and ponder ; 
and ponder and pause ; who knows what thy own 
end may be !" 



IX. 

ON NATIONAL CONCORD. 

I take the liberty to communicate to the public a 
few loose thoughts upon a subject, which, though 
often handled, has not yet, in my opinion, been 
fully discussed : I mean national concord, or una- 
nimity, which in this kingdom has been generally 
considered as a bare possibility, that existed no 
where but in speculation. Such an union is per- 
haps neither to be expected nor wished for in a 
country, whose liberty depends rather upon the ge- 
nius of the people, than upon any precautions which 
they have taken in a constitutional way for the guard 
and preservation of this inestimable blessing. 

There is a very honest gentleman, with whom I 
have been acquainted these thirty years, during 
which there has not been one speech uttered 
against the ministry in parliament, nor struggle at 
an election for a burgess to serve in the House of 
Commons, nor a pamphlet published in opposition 
to any measure of the administration, nor even a 
private censure passed in his hearing upon the mis- 
conduct of any person concerned in public affairs, 
but he is immediately alarmed, and loudly exclaims 
against such factious doings, in order to set the peo- 



72 goldsmith's essays. 

pie by the ears together at such a delicate junc- 
ture. " At any other time (says he) such opposition 
might not be improper, and I don't question the 
facts that are alleged ; but at this crisis, sir, to in- 
flame the nation ! — the man deserves to be punish- 
ed as a traitor to his country ." In a word, accord- 
ing to this gentleman's opinion, the nation has been 
in a violent crisis at any time these thirty years ; 
and were it possible, for him to live another cen- 
tury, he would never find any period, at which a 
man might with safety impugn the infallibility of a 
minister. 

The case is no more than this : my honest friend 
has invested his whole fortune in the stocks, on go- 
vernment security, and trembles at even* whiff of 
popular discontent. Were every British subject of 
the same tame and timid disposition, Magna Char- 
ta (to use the coarse phrase of Oliver Cromwell) 
would be no more regarded by an ambitious prince, 
than magna f— ta, and the liberties of England 
expire without a groan. Opposition, when re- 
strained within due bounds, is the salubrious gale 
that ventilates the opinions of the people, which 
might otherwise stagnate into the most abject sub- 
mission. It may be said to purify the atmosphere 
of politics ; to dispel the gross vapours raised by 
the influence of ministerial artifice and corruption, 
until the constitution, like a mighty rock, stands 
full disclosed to the view of every individual, who 
dwells within the shade of its protection. Even 
when this gale blows with augmented violence, it 
generally tends to the advantage of the common- 
wealth, it awakes the apprehension, and conse- 
quently arouses all the faculties of the pilot at the 



ON NATIONAL CONCORD. 73 

helm, who redoubles his vigilance and caution, ex- 
erts his utmost skill, and becoming acquainted with 
the nature of the navigation, in a little time learns to 
suit his canvass to the roughness of the sea, and the 
trim of the vessel. Without these intervening storms 
of opposition to exercise his faculties, he would be- 
come enervate, negligent, and presumptuous ; and 
in the wantonness of his power, trusting to some 
deceitful calm, perhaps hazard a step that would 
wreck the constitution. Yet there is a measure in 
all things. A moderate frost will fertilize the glebe 
with. nitrous particles, and destroy the eggs of per- 
nicious insects, that prey upon the fancy of the year : 
but if this frost increases in severity and duration, 
it will chill the seeds, and even freeze up the roots 
of vegetables ; it will check the bloom, nip the 
buds, and blast all the promise of the spring. The 
vernal breeze that drives the fogs before it, that 
brushes the cobwebs from the boughs, that fans 
the air, and fosters vegetation, if augmented to a 
tempest, will strip the leaves, overthrow the tree, 
and desolate the garden. The auspicious gale be- 
fore which the trim vessel plows the bosom of the 
sea, while the mariners are kept alert in duty and 
in spirits, if converted to a hurricane, overwhelms 
the crew with terror and confusion. The sails are 
rent, the cordage cracked, the masts give way ; the 
master eyes the havock with mute despair, and the 
vessel founders in the storm. Opposition, when 
confined within its proper channel, sweeps away 
those beds of soil and banks of sand which cor- 
ruptive power had gathered; but when it over- 
flows its banks, and deluges the plain, its course is 
marked by ruin and devastation. 

£ 



74 goldsmith's essays. 

The opposition necessary in a free state, like 
that of Great Britain, is not at all incompatible 
with that national concord, which ought to unite ' 
the people on all emergencies, in which the general 
safety is at stake. It is the jealousy of patriotism, 
not the rancour of party ; the warmth of candour, 
not the virulence of hate ; a transient dispute 
among friends, not an implacable feud that admits 
of no reconciliation. The history of all ages teems 
with the fatal effects of internal discord ; and were 
history and tradition annihilated, common sense 
would plainly point out the mischiefs that must 
arise from want of harmony and national union. 
Every school- boy can have recourse to the fable of 
the rods, which, when united in a bundle, no 
strength could bend ; but when separated into 
single twigs, a child could break with ease. 



X. 

FEMALE WARRIORS. 

I have spent the greater part of my life in making 
observations on men and things, and in projecting 
schemes for the advantage of my country; and 
though my labours met with an ungrateful return, 
I will still persist in my endeavours for its service, 
like that venerable, unshaken, and neglected pa- 
triot, Mr. Jacob Henriquez, who, though of the 
Hebrew nation, hath exhibited a shining example 
of Christian fortitude and perseverance*. And 

* A man well known at this period (1762), as well as 



FEMALE WARRIORS. 75 

here my conscience urges me to confess, that the 
hint upon which the following proposals are built, 
was taken from an advertisement of the said pa- 
triot Henriquez, in which he gave the public to 
understand, that Heaven had indulged him with 
" seven blessed daughters." Blessed they are, no 
doubt, on account of their own and their father's 
virtues : but more blessed may they be, if the 
scheme I offer should be adopted by the legisla- 
ture. 

The proportion which the number of females 
born in these kingdoms bears to the male children, 
is, I think, supposed to be as thirteen to fourteen : 
but as women are not so subject as the other sex 
to accidents and intemperance, in numbering adults 
we shall find the balance on the female side. If, in 
calculating the numbers of the people, we take in 
the multitudes that emigrate to the plantations, 
whence they never return, those that die at sea and 
make their exit at Tyburn, together with the con- 
sumption of the present Avar, by sea and land, in 
the Atlantic, Mediterranean, in the German and 
Indian oceans, in Old France, New France, North 
America^ the Leeward Islands, Germany, Africa, 
and Asia, we may fairly state the loss of men during 
the war at one hundred thousand. If this be 
the case, there must be a superplus of the other sex 
amounting to the same number, and this superplus 
- will consist of women able to bear arms ; as I take 

during many preceding years, for the numerous schemes he 
was daily offering to various ministers, for the purpose of 
raising money by loans, paying off the national encum- 
brances, &c. &c. none of which, however, were ever known 
to have received the smallest notice. 



76 goldsmith's essays. 

it for granted, that all those who are fit to bear 
children are likewise fit to bear arms. Now as we 
have seen the nation governed by old women, I 
hope to make it appear that it may be defended 
by young women ; and surely this scheme will not 
be rejected as unnecessary at such a juncture,* 
when our armies in the four quarters of the globe 
are in want of recruits ; when we find ourselves 
entangled in a new war with Spain, on the eve of 
a rupture in Italy, and indeed in a fair way of being 
obliged" to make head against all the great poten- 
tates of Europe. 

But, before I unfold my design, it may be ne- 
cessary to obviate, from experience as well as 
argument, the objections which may be made to the 
delicate frame and tender disposition of the female 
sex, rendering them incapable of the toils, and in- 
superably averse to the horrors of war. All the 
world has heard of the nation of Amazons, who in- 
habited the banks of the river Thermodoon in Cap- 
padocia ; who expelled their men by force of arms, 
defended themselves by their own prowess, ma- 
naged the reins of government, prosecuted the ope- 
rations in war, and held the other sex in the utmost 
contempt. We are informed by Homer that Pen- 
thesilea, queeu of the Amazons, acted as auxiliary 
to Priam, and fell valiantly fighting in his cause be- 
fore the walls of Troy. Quintus Curtius tells us, 
that Thalestris brought one hundred armed Ama- 
zons in a present to Alexander the Great. Diodo- 
rus Siculus expressly says, there was a nation of 
female warriors in Africa, who fought against the 

* In the year 1702. 



FEMALE WARRIORS. 77 

Libyan Hercules. We read in the voyages of Co- 
lumbus, that one of the Caribbee islands was pos- 
sessed by a tribe of female warriors, who kept all 
the neighbouring Indians in awe ; but we need not 
go further than our own age and country to prove 
that the spirit and constitution of the fair sex are 
equal to the dangers and fatigues of war. Every 
novice who has read the authentic and important 
History of the Pirates, is well acquainted with the 
exploits of two heroines, called Mary Read and 
Anne Bonny. I myself have had the honour to 
drink with Anne Cassier, alias Mother Wade, who 
had distinguished herself among the buccaneers of 
America, and in her old age kept a punch-house in 
Port-Royal of Jamaica. I have likewise conversed 
with Moll Davis, who had served as a dragoon in 
all queen Anne's wars, and was admitted on the 
pension of Chelsea. The late war with Spain, and 
even the present, hath produced instances of fe- 
males enlisting both in the land and sea service, and 
behaving with remarkable bravery in the disguise of 
the other sex. And who has not heard of the cele- 
brated Jenny Cameron, and some other enterprising 
ladies of North Britain, who attended a certain 
Adventurer in all his expeditions, and headed their 
respective clans in a military character? That 
strength of body is. often equal to the courage of 
mind implanted in the fair sex, will not be denied 
by those who have seen the water- women of Ply- 
mouth ; the female drudges of Ireland, Wales, and 
Scotland; the fish-women of Billingsgate; the 
weeders, podders, and hoppers, who swarm in the 
fields ; and the bunters who swagger in the streets 
of London ; not to mention the indefatigable trulls 



78 goldsmith's essays. 

who follow the camp, and keep up with the line of 
march, though loaded with "bantlings and other 



There is scarcely a street in this metropolis with- 
out one or more viragos, who discipline their hus- 
bands, and domineer over the whole neighbourhood. 
Many months are not elapsed since I was witness 
to a pitched battle between two athletic females, 
who fought with equal skill and fury until one of 
them gave out, after having sustained seven falls on 
the hard stones. They were both stripped to the un- 
der petticoat ; their breasts were carefully swathed 
with handkerchiefs, and as no vestiges of features 
were to be seen in either when I came up, I ima- 
gined the combatants were of the other sex, until a 
bystander assured me of the contrary, gjving me to 
understand that the conqueror had lain in about 
five weeks of twin bastards, begot by her second, 
who was an Irish chairman. When I see the ave- 
nues of the Strand beset every night with troops of 
fierce Amazons, who, with dreadful imprecations, 
stop, and beat, and plunder passengers, I cannot help 
wishing that such martial talents were converted 
to the benefit of the pubiic ; and that those who 
are so loaded with temporal fire, and so little afraid 
of eternal fire, should, instead of ruining the souls 
and bodies of their fellow-citizens, be put in a way 
of turning their destructive qualities against the 
enemies of the nation. 

Having thus demonstrated that the fail* sex are 
not deficient in strength and resolution, I would 
humbly propose, that as there is an excess on their 
side in quantity to the amount of one hundred thou- 
sand, part of that number may be employed in 



FEMALE WARRIORS. 79 

recruiting the army, as well as in raising thirty- 
new Amazonian regiments, to be commanded by 
females, and serve in regimentals adapted to their 
sex. The Amazons of old appeared with the left 
breast bare, an open jacket and trowsers, that de- 
scended no farther than the knee ; the right breast 
was destroyed, that it might not impede them in 
bending the bow, or darting the javelin ; but there 
is no occasion for this cruel excision in the present 
discipline, as we have seen instances of women who 
handle the musquet, without finding any inconve- 
nience from that protuberance. 

As the sex love gaiety, they may be clothed in 
vests of pink satin, and open drawers of the same, 
with buskins on their feet and legs, their hair tied 
behind and floating on their shoulders, and their 
hats adorned with white feathers : they may be 
armed with light carbines and long bayonets, with- 
out the encumbrance of swords or shoulder-belts. I 
make no doubt but many young ladi-es of figure and 
fashion will undertake to raise companies at their 
own expense, provided they like their colonels; 
but I must insist upon it, if this scheme should be 
embraced, that Mr. Henriquez's seven blessed 
daughters may be provided with commissions, as 
the project is in some measure owing to the hints 
of that venerable patriot. I moreover give it as 
my opinion, that Mrs. Kitty Fisher* shall have the 
command of a battalion, and the nomination of her 
own officers, provided she will warrant them all 
sound, and be content to wear proper badges of 
distinction. 

* A celebrated courtezan of that time. 



80 goldsmith's essays. 

A female brigade, properly disciplined and ac- 
coutred, would not, I am persuaded, be afraid to 
charge a numerous body of the enemy, over whom 
they would have a manifest advantage ; for if the 
barbarous Scythians w T ere ashamed to fight with 
the Amazons who invaded them, surely the French, 
who pique themselves on their sensibility and devo- 
tion to the fair sex, would not act upon the offen- 
sive against a band of female warriors, arrayed in 
all the charms of youth and beauty. 



XL 

ON NATIONAL PREJUDICE. 

As I am one of that sauntering tribe of mortals 
who spend the greatest part of their time in taverns, 
coffee-houses, and other places of public resort,-! 
have thereby an opportunity of observing an infi- 
nite variety of characters, which, to a person of a 
contemplative turn, is a much higher entertainment 
than a new of all the curiosities of art or nature. 
In one of these my late rambles, I accidentally fell 
into the company of half a dozen gentlemen who 
were engaged in a warm dispute about some poli- 
tical affair; the decision of which, as they were 
equally divided in their sentiments, they thought 
proper to refer to me, which naturally drew me in 
for a share of the conversation. 

Amongst a multiplicity of other topics, we took 
occasion to talk of the different characters of the 
several nations of Europe ; when one of the gentle- 
men, cocking his hat, and assuming such an air of 



ON NATIONAL PREJUDICE. 81 

importance as if he had possessed all the merit of 
the English nation in his own person, declared that 
the Dutch were a parcel of avaricious wretches; 
the French a set of flattering sycophants ; that the 
Germans were drunken sots, and beastly gluttons ; 
and the Spaniards proud, haughty, and surly ty- 
rants ; but that in bravery, generosity, clemency, 
and in every other virtue, the English excelled all 
the rest of the world. 

This very learned and judicious remark was re- 
ceived with .a general smile of approbation by all 
the company — all, I mean, but your humble ser- 
vant ; who, endeavouring to keep my gravity as 
well as I could, and reclining my head upon my 
arm, continued for some time in a posture of affected 
thoughtfulness, as if I had been musing on some- 
thing else, and did not seem to attend to the sub- 
ject of conversation; hoping by these means to 
avoid the disagreeable necessity of explaining my- 
self, and thereby depriving the gentleman of his 
imaginary happiness. 

But my pseudo-patriot had no miner to let me 
escape so easily. Not satisfied that his opinion 
should pass without contradiction, he was deter- 
mined to have it ratified by the suffrage of every 
one in the company ; for which purpose, address- 
ing himself to me, with an air of inexpressible con- 
fidence, he asked me if I was not of the same way 
of thinkiug. As I am never forward in giving my 
opinion, especially when I have reason to believe 
that it will not be agreeable; so, when 1 am 
obliged to give it, I always hold it for a maxim to 
speak my real sentiments. I therefore told him, 
that for my own part I should not have ventured 

e 2 



i 



82 goldsmith's essays. 

to talk in such a peremptory strain, unless I had 
made the tour of Europe, and examined the man- 
ners of these several nations with great care and 
accuracy*: that perhaps a more impartial judge 
would not scruple to affirm, that the Dutch were 
more frugal and industrious, the French more tem- 
perate and polite, the Germans more hardy and pa- 
tient of labour and fatigue, and the Spaniards more 
staid and sedate, than the English ; who, though 
undoubtedly brave and generous, were at the same 
time rash, headstrong, and impetuous ; too apt to 
be elated with prosperity, and to despond in ad- 
versity. 

I could easily perceive that all the company be- 
gan to regard me with a jealous eye before I had 
finished my answer, which I had no sooner done, 
than the patriotic gentleman observed, with a con- 
temptuous sneer, that he was greatly surprised how 
some people could have the conscience to live in a 
country which they did not love, and to enjoy the 
protection of a government to which in their hearts 
they were inveterate enemies. Finding that by 
this modest declaration of my sentiments I had for- 
feited the good opinion of my companions, and 
given them occasion to call my political principles 
in question, and well knowing that it was in vain 
to argue with men who were so very full of them- 
selves, I threw down my reckoning, and retired 
to my own lodgings, reflecting on the absurd and 
ridiculous nature of national prejudice and prepos- 
session. 

Among all the famous sayings of antiquity, there 
is none that does greater honour to the author, 
or affords greater pleasure to the reader (at least 



ON NATIONAL PREJUDICE. 83 

if he be a person of a generous and benevolent 
heart), than that of the philosopher, who, being 
asked what " countryman he was," replied that 
he was " a citizen of the world." How few are 
there to be found in modern times who can say the 
same, or whose conduct is consistent with such a 
profession ! we are now become so much English- 
men, Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Spaniards, or Ger- 
mans, that we are no longer citizens of the world ; 
so much the natives of one particular spot, or 
members of one petty society, that we no longer 
consider ourselves as the general inhabitants of the 
globe, or members of that grand society which com- 
prehends the whole human kind. 

Did these prejudices prevail only among the 
meanest and lowest of the people, perhaps they 
might be excused, as they have few, if any, oppor- 
tunities of correcting them by reading, travelling, 
or conversing with foreigners ; but the misfortune 
is, that they infect the minds, and influence the con- 
duct, even of our gentlemen ; of those I mean, who 
have every title to this appellation bat an exemp- 
tion from prejudice, which, however, in my opinion, 
ought to be regarded as the characteristical mark of 
a gentleman ; for, let a man's birth be ever so high, 
his station ever so exalted, or his fortune ever so 
large, yet if he is not free from national and other 
prejudices, I should make bold to tell him, that he 
had a low and vulgar mind, and had no just claim 
to the character of a gentleman. And in fact you 
will always find, that those are most apt to boast of 
national merit, who have little or no merit of their 
own to depend on ; than which, to be sure, nothing 
is more natural : the slender vine twists around 



84 goldsmith's essays. 

the sturdy oak for no other reason in the world 
but because it has not strength sufficient to support 
itself. 

Should it be alleged in defence of national pre- 
judice, that it is the natural and necessary growth 
of love to our country, and that therefore the for- 
mer cannot be destroyed without hurting the latter, 
I answer, that this is a gross fallacy and delusion. 
That it is the growth of love to our country I will 
allow; but that it is the natural and necessary 
growth of it, I absolutely deny. Superstition and 
enthusiasm too are the growth of religion; but who 
ever took it in his head to affirm that they are the 
necessary growth of this noble principle ? They 
are, if you will, the bastard sprouts of this heavenly 
plant, but not its natural and genuine branches, and 
may safely enough be lopped off, without doing any 
harm to the parent stock ; nay, perhaps, till once 
they are lopped off, this goodly tree can never flou- 
rish in perfect health and vigour. 

Is it not very possible that I may love my own 
country, without hating the natives of other coun- 
tries ? that I may exert the most heroic bravery, 
the most undaunted resolution, in defending its laws 
and liberty, without despising all the rest of the 
world as cowards and poltroons ? Most certainly it 
is ; and if it were not. — But what need I suppose 
what is absolutely impossible ? But if it were not, 
I must own, I should prefer the title of the ancient 
philosopher, viz. a Citizen of the World, to that of 
an Englishman, a Frenchman, an European, or to 
any other appellation whatever. 



ON TASTE. . 85 

XII. 

ON TASTE. 

Amidst the frivolous pursuits and pernicious dissi- 
pations of the present age, a respect for the quali- 
ties of the understanding still prevails to such a 
degree, that almost every individual pretends to 
have a Taste for the Belles Lettres. The spruce 
'prentice sets up for a critic, and the puny heau 
piques himself upon being a connoisseur. Without 
assigning causes for this universal presumption, we 
shall proceed to observe, that if it was attended 
with no other inconvenience than that of exposing 
the pretender to the ridicule of those few, who can 
sift his pretensions, it might be unnecessary to un- 
deceive the public, or to endeavour at the refor- 
mation of innocent folly, productive of no evil to 
the commonwealth. But in reality this folly is pro- 
ductive of manifold evils to the community. If the 
reputation of taste- can be acquired, without the 
least assistance of literature, by reading modern 
poems, and seeing modern plays, what person will 
deny himself the pleasure of such an easy qualifica- 
tion ? Hence the youth of both sexes are debauched 
to diversion, and seduced from much more profit- 
able occupations into idle endeavours after literary 
fame ; and a superficial false taste, founded on igno- 
rance and conceit, takes possession of the public. 
The acquisition of learning, the study of nature, is 
neglected as superfluous labour ; and the best facul- 
ties of the mind remain unexercised, and indeed 



86 goldsmith's essays. 

unopened, by the power of thought and reflection. 
False taste will not only diffuse itself through all 
our amusements, but even influence our moral and 
political conduct ; for what is false taste but want 
of perception to discern propriety, and distinguish 
beauty ? 

It has been often alleged, that taste is a natural 
talent, as independent of art as strong eyes, or a 
delicate sense of smelling; and without all doubt 
the principal ingredient in the composition of taste, 
is a natural sensibility, without which it cannot 
exist ; but it differs from the senses in this particu- 
lar, that they are finished by nature ; whereas taste 
cannot be brought to perfection without proper cul- 
tivation : for taste pretends to judge not only of na- 
ture, but also of art ; and that judgment is founded 
upon observation and comparison. 

What Horace has said of genius is still more ap- 
plicable to taste, . 

Natura fieret laudabile carmen, an arte, 
Quaesitum est. Ego nee studium sine divite vena, 
Nee rude quid prosit video ingenium : alterius sic 
Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice. 

Hor. Art. Poet. 

*Tis long disputed, whether poets claim, - 
From art or nature their best right to fame; 
But art, if not enrich'd by nature's vein, 
And a rude genius of uncultured strain, 
Are useless both ; but when in friendship join'd, 
A mutual succour in each other find. 

Francis. 

We have seen genius shine without the help of art; 
but taste must be cultivated by art, before it will - 



ON TASTE. 87 

produce agreeable fruit. This, however, we must 
still inculcate with Quintilian, that study, precept, 
and observation will naught avail, without the as- 
sistance of nature. 

Illud tamen imprimis testandum est, nihil prsecepta at- 
que artes valere, nisi adjuvante natura. 

Yet, even though nature has done her part, by 
implanting the seeds of taste, great pains must be 
taken, and great skill exerted, in raising them to a 
proper pitch of vegetation. The judicious tutor 
must gradually and tenderly unfold the mental fa- 
culties of the youth committed to his charge. He 
must cherish his delicate perception ; store his 
mind with proper ideas ; point out the different 
channels of observation ; teach him. to compare ob- 
jects ; to establish the limits of right and wrong, of 
truth and falsehood; to distinguish beauty from 
tinsel, and grace from affectation ; in a word, to 
strengthen and improve by culture, experience, and 
instruction, those natural powers of feeling and sa- 
gacity, which constitute the faculty called taste, 
and enable the professor to enjoy the delights of the 
belles lettres. 

We cannot agree in opinion with those, who ima- 
gine that nature has been equally favourable to all 
men, in conferring upon them a fundamental capa- 
city, which may be improved to all the refinement 
of taste and criticism. Every day's experience con- 
vinces us of the contrary. Of two youths educated 
under the same preceptor, instructed with the same 
care, and cultivated with the same assiduity, one 
shall not only comprehend, but even anticipate the 
lessons of his master, by dint of natural discern- 



38 goldsmith's essays. 

ment ; while the other toils in vain to imbibe the 
least tincture of instruction. Such indeed is the di- 
stinction between genius and stupidity, which every 
man has an opportunity of seeing among his friends 
and acquaintance. Not that we ought too hastily 
to decide upon the natural capacities of children, 
before we have maturely considered the peculiarity 
of disposition, and the bias by which genius may 
be strangely warped from the common path of edu- 
cation. A youth, incapable of retaining one rule 
of grammar, or of acquiring the least knowledge of 
the classics, may nevertheless make great progress 
in mathematics ; nay, he may have a strong genius 
for the mathematics, without being able to com- 
prehend a demonstration of Euclid ; because his 
mind conceives in a peculiar manner, and is so in- 
tent upon contemplating the object in one particular 
point of view, that it cannot perceive it in any 
other. We have known an instance of a boy, who 
while his master complained that he had not capa- 
city to comprehend the properties of a right-angled 
triangle, had actually, in private, by the power of 
his genius, formed a mathematical system of his 
own, discovered a series of curious theorems, and 
even applied his deductions to practical machines 
of surprising construction. Besides, in the educa- 
tion of youth, we ought to remember that some ca- 
pacities are like the pyra prcecocia ; they soon blow, 
and soon attain to all that degree of maturity which 
they are capable of acquiring ; while, en the other 
hand, there are geniuses of slow growth, that are 
late in bursting the bud, and long in ripening. Yet 
the first shall yield a faint blossom, and insipid 
fruit ; whereas the produce of-the other shall be 



ON TASTE. 89 

distinguished and admired for its well-concocted 
juice and exquisite flavour. We have known a boy 
of five years of age surprise every body by playing 
on the violin in such a manner as seemed to promise 
a prodigy in music. He had all the assistance that 
art could afford ; by the age of ten his genius was 
at the axjuYj ; yet after that period, notwithstand- 
ing the most intense application, he never gave the 
least signs of improvement. At six he was admired 
as a miracle of music ; at six-and-twenty he was 
neglected as an ordinary fiddler. The celebrated 
Dean Swift was a remarkable instance in the other 
extreme. He was long considered as an incorri- 
gible dunce, and did not obtain his degree at the uni- 
versity but ex speciali gratia : yet when his powers 
began to unfold, he signalized himself by a very 
remarkable superiority of genius. When a youth 
therefore appears dull of apprehension, and seems 
to derive no advantage from study and instruction, 
the tutor must exercise his sagacity in discovering 
whether the soil be absolutely barren, or sown with 
seed repugnant to its nature, or of such a quality as 
requires repeated culture and length of time to set 
its juices in fermentation. These observations, 
however, relate to capacity in general, which we 
ought carefully to distinguish from taste. Capacity 
implies the power of retaining what is received ; 
taste is the power of relishing or rejecting what- 
ever is offered for the entertainment of the imagi- 
nation. A man may have capacity to acquire what 
is called learning and philosophy ; but he must 
have also sensibility before he feels those emo- 
tions, with which taste receives the impressions of 
beauty. 



90 goldsmith's essays. 

Natural taste is apt to be seduced and debauched 
by vicious precept and bad example. There is a 
dangerous tinsel in false taste, by which the un- 
wary mind and young imagination are often fasci- 
nated. Nothing has been so often explained, and 
yet so little understood, as simplicity in writing. 
Simplicity in this acceptation has a larger significa- 
tion than either the aTrXoov of the Greeks, or the 
simplex of the Latins ; for it implies beauty. It is 
the a7rXocy xa; yjSuv of Demetrius Phalereus, the sim- 
plex mundltiis of Horace, and expressed by one 
word, naivete, in the French language. It is in 
fact no other than beautiful nature, without affec- 
tation or extraneous ornament. In statuary, it is 
the Venus of Medicis ; in architecture, the Pan- 
theon. It would be an endless task to enumerate 
all the instances of this natural simplicity, that oc- 
cur in poetry and painting among the ancients 
and moderns. We shall only mention two exam- 
ples of it, the beauty of which consists in the pa- 
thetic. 

Anaxagoras, the philosopher and preceptor of 
Pericles, being told that both his sons were dead, 
laid his hand upon his heart, and, after a short 
pause, consoled himself with a reflection couched 
in three words, rfieiv Snrwg ytyevi^xc;, " I knew they 
were mortal." The other instance we select from 
the tragedy of Macbeth. The gallant Macduff, be- 
ing informed that his wife and children were mur- 
dered by order of the tyrant, pulls his hat over his 
eyes, and his internal agony bursts out into an excla- 
mation of four words, the most expressive perhaps 
that ever were uttered ; " He has no children.'* This 
is the energetic language of simple nature, which is 



ON TASTE. 91 

now grown into disrepute. By the present mode 
of education we are forcibly warped from the bias 
of nature, and all simplicity in manners is rejected. 
We are taught to disguise and distort our sentiments, 
until the faculty of thinking is diverted into an un- 
natural channel ; and we not only relinquish and 
forget, but also become incapable of our original 
dispositions. We are totally changed into creatures 
of art and affectation. Our perception is abused, 
and even our senses are perverted. Our minds lose 
their native force and flavour. The imagination, 
sweated by artificial fire, produces naught but va- 
pid bloom. The genius, instead of growing like a 
vigorous tree, extending its branches on every side, 
and bearing delicious fruit, resembles a stunted 
yew, tortured into some wretched form, projecting 
no shade, displaying no flower, diffusing no fra- 
grance, yielding no fruit, and affording nothing but 
a barren conceit for the amusement of the idle spec- 
tator. 

Thus debauched from nature, how can we relish 
her genuine productions ? As well might a man dis- 
tinguish objects through a prism, that presents no- 
thing but a variety of colours to the eye ; or a maid 
pining in the green sickness prefer a biscuit to a 
cinder. It has been often alleged that the passions 
can never be wholly deposited ; and that by appealing 
to these, a good writer will always be able to force 
himself into the hearts of his readers ; but even 
the strongest passions are weakened, nay sometimes 
totally extinguished, by mutual opposition, dissipa- 
tion, and acquired insensibility. How often at the 
theatre is the tear of sympathy and the burst of 
laughter repressed by a ridiculous species of pride 3 



92 goldsmith's essays. 

refusing approbation to the author and actor, and 
renouncing society with the audience ? This seeming 
insensibility is not owing to any original defect. 
Nature has stretched the string, though it has long 
ceased to vibrate. It may have been displaced and 
distracted by the violence of pride ; it may have lost 
its tone through long disuse ; or be so twisted or 
overstrained, as to produce the most jarring dis- 
cords. 

If so little regard is paid to nature, when she 
knocks so powerfully at the breast, she must be 
altogether neglected and despised in her calmer 
mood of serene tranquillity, when nothing appears 
to recommend her but simplicity, propriety, and in- 
nocence. A person must have delicate feelings that 
can taste the celebrated repartee in Terence : Homo 
sum; nihil humani a me alienum pato ; <( l am a 
man ; therefore think I have an interest in every 
thing that concerns humanity." A clear blue sky, 
spangled with stars, will prove an insipid object to 
eyes accustomed to the glare of torches and tapers, 
gilding and glitter ; eyes, that will turn with disgust 
from the green mantle of the spring, so gorgeously 
adorned with buds and foliage, flowers and blos- 
soms, to contemplate a gaudy silken robe, striped 
and intersected with unfriendly tints, that fritter 
the masses of light and distract the vision, pinked 
into the most fantastic forms, flounced, and furbe- 
lowed, and fringed with all the littleness of art un- 
known to elegance. 

Those ears, that are offended by the notes of the 
thrush, the blackbird, and the nightingale, will be 
regaled and ravished by the squeaking fiddle touched 
by a musician, who has no other genius than that 



ON TASTE. 93 

which lies in his fingers ; they will even be enter- 
tained with the rattling of coaches, and the alarm- 
ing knock, by which the doors of fashionable people 
are so loudly distinguished. The sense of smelling, 
that delights in the scent of excrementitious animal 
juices, such as musk, civet, and urinous salts, will 
loathe the fragrance of new-mown hay, the sweet- 
brier, the honey- suckle, and the rose. The organs, 
that are gratified with the taste of sickly veal bled 
into a palsy, crammed fowls, and dropsical brawn, 
pease without substance, peaches without taste, and 
pine-apples without flavour, will certainly nauseate 
the native, genuine, and salutary taste of Welch 
beef, Banstead mutton, and barn-door fowls, whose 
juices are concocted by a natural digestion, and 
whose flesh is consolidated by free air and exercise. 
In such a total perversion of the senses, the ideas 
must be misrepresented, the powers of the imagi- 
nation disordered, and the judgment of consequence 
unsound. The disease is attended with a false ap- 
petite, which the natural food of the mind will 
not satisfy. It will prefer Ovid to Tibullus, and 
the rant of Lee to the tenderness of Otway. The 
soul sinks into a kind of sleepy idiotism ; and is di- 
verted by toys and baubles, which can only be 
pleasing to the most superficial curiosity. It is en- 
livened by a quick succession of trivial objects, that 
glisten and dance before the eye ; and, like an in- 
fant, is kept awake and inspirited by the sound of 
a rattle. It must not only be dazzled and aroused, 
but also cheated, hurried, and perplexed by the 
artifice of deception, business, intricacy, ; and in- 
trigue ; a kind of low juggle, which may be termed 
the legerdemain of genius. 



94 goldsmith's essays. 

In this state of depravity the mind cannot enjoy, 
nor indeed distinguish the charms of natural and 
moral beauty and decorum. The ingenuous blush 
of native innocence, the plain language of ancient 
faith and sincerity, the cheerful resignation to the 
will of Heaven, the mutual affection of the chari- 
ties, the voluntary respect paid to superior dignity 
or station, the virtue of beneficence, extended even 
to the brute creation, nay, the very crimson glow ' 
of health and swelling lines of beauty, are despised, 
detested, scorned, and ridiculed, as ignorance, 
rudeness, rusticity, and superstition. Thus we see 
how moral and natural beauty are connected ; and 
of what importance it is, even to the formation of 
taste, that the manners should be severely super- 
intended. This is a task which ought to take the 
lead of science ; for we will venture to say,. that vir- 
tue is the foundation of taste ; or rather, that virtue 
and taste are built upon the same foundation of 
sensibility, and cannot be disjoined without offering 
violence to both. But virtue must be informed, 
and taste instructed, otherwise they will both re- 
main imperfect and ineffectual. 

Qui didicit patriae quid debeat, et quid amicis, 
Quo sit amore parens, quo frater amandus, et hospes, 
Quod sit Conscripti, quod judicis officium, quae 
Partes in bellurn missi ducis ; ille profecto 
Reddere persona? scit convenientia cuique. 

The critic, who with nice discernment knows 
What to his country and his friends he owes ; 
How various nature warms the human breast, 
To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest ; ' 
What the great functions of our judges are, 
Of senators, and generals sent to war ; 



CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 95 

He can distinguish, with unerring art, 
The strokes peculiar to each different part. 

Hor. 

Thus we see taste is composed of nature improved 
by art : of feeling tutored by instruction. 



XIII. 

CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 

Having explained what we conceive to be true 
'" taste, and in some measure accounted for the pre- 
valence of vitiated taste, we should proceed to point 
out the most effectual manner in which a natural 
capacity may be improved into a delicacy of judg- 
ment, and an intimate acquaintance with the belles 
lettres. We shall take it for granted, that proper 
means have been used to form the manners, and 
attach the mind to virtue. The heart, cultivated by 
precept, and warmed by example, improves in sen- 
sibility, which is the foundation of taste. By di- 
stinguishing the influence and scope of morality, and 
cherishing the ideas of benevolence, it acquires a 
habit of sympathy, which tenderly feels responsive, 
like the vibration of unisons, every touch of moral 
beauty. Hence it is that a man of a social heart, en- 
tendered by the practice of virtue, is awakened to 
the most pathetic emotions by every uncommon 
instance of generosity, compassion, and greatness 
of soul. Is there any man so dead to sentiment, so 
lost to humanity, as to read unmoved the generous 
behaviour of the Romans to the states of Greece, 



96 goldsmith's essays. 

as it is recounted by Livy, or embellished by Thom- 
son, in his Pcem of Liberty ? Speaking of Greece 
in the decline of her power, when her freedom no 
longer existed, he says ; 

As at her Isthmian games, a fading pomp ! 
Her full assembled youth innumerous swarm'd, 
On a tribunal raised Flaminius * sat : 
A victor he from the deep phalanx pierced 
Of iron-coated Macedon, and back 
The Grecian tyrant to his bounds repell'd. 
- In the high thoughtless gaiety of game, 
While sport alone their unambitious hearts 
Possess' d ; the sudden trumpet, sounding hoarse, 
Bade silence o'er the bright assembly reign. 
Then thus a herald — " to the states of Greece 
The Roman people, unconfined, restore 
Their countries, cities, liberties, and laws ; 
Taxes remit, and garrisons withdraw." 
The crowd, astonish'd half, and half inform'd, 
Stared dubious round; some question'd, some exclaim'd, 
(Like one who dreaming, between hope and fear, 
Is lost in anxious joy) " Be that again 

— Be that again proclaim'd distinct and loud!" , 
Loud and distinct it was again proclaim'd ; 

And still as midnight in the rural shade, 
When the gale slumbers, they the words devour'd. 
" Awhile severe amazement held them mute, 
Then bursting broad, the boundless shout to heaven 
From many a thousand hearts ecstatic sprung ! 
On every hand rebellow'd to them joy ; 
The swelling sea, the rocks, and vocal hills — 

— Like Bacchanals they flew, 

Each other straining in a strict embrace, 

Nor strain' d a slave ; and loud acclaims till night, 

Round the proconsul's tent repeated rung. 

To one aquainted with the genius of Greece, the 
* His real name was Quintus Flaminius. 



CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 



97 



character and disposition of that polished people, 
admired for science, renowned for an unextinguish- 
able love of freedom ; nothing can be more affecting 
than this instance of generous magnanimity of the 
Roman people, in restoring them unasked to the 
full fruition of those liberties which they had so 
unfortunately lost. 

The mind of sensibility is equally struck by the 
generous confidence of Alexander, who drinks with- 
out hesitation the potion presented by his physician, 
Philip, even after he had received intimation that 
poison was contained in the cup ; a noble and pa- 
thetic scene ! which hath acquired new dignity and 
expression under the inimitable pencil of La Sueur. 
Humanity is melted into tears of tender admiration 
by the deportment of Henry [V. of France, while 
his rebellious subjects compelled him to form the. 
blockade of his capital. In chastising his enemies, 
he could not but remember they were his people ; 
and knowing they were reduced to the extremity of 
famine, he generously connived at the methods prac- 
tised to supply them with provision. Chancing one 
day to meet two peasants, who had been detected 
in these practices, as they were led to execution 
they implored his clemency, declaring in the sight 
of Heaven, they had no other way to procure sub- 
sistence for their wives and children. He par- 
doned them on the spot, and giving them all the 
money that was in his purse, " Henry of Bearne is 
poor (said he) ; had he more money to afford, you 
should have it — go home to your families in peace; 
and remember your duty to God, and your alle- 
giance to your sovereign." Innumerable examples of 
the same kind may be selected from history, both 



98 goldsmith's essays. 

ancient and modern, the study of which we would 
therefore strenuously recommend. 

Historical knowledge indeed becomes necessary 
on many other accounts, which in its place we will 
explain : but as the formation of the heart is of the 
first consequence, and should precede the cultiva- 
tion of the understanding, such striking instances 
of superior virtue ought to be culled for the perusal 
of the young pupil, who will read them with eager- 
ness, and revolve them with pleasure. Thus the 
young mind becomes enamoured of moral beauty, 
and the passions are listed on the side of humanity. 
Meanwhile knowledge of a different species will go 
hand in hand with the advances of morality, and the 
understanding be gradually extended. Virtue and 
sentiment reciprocally assist each other, and both 
conduce to the improvement of perception. While 
the scholar's chief attention is employed in learning 
the Latin and Greek languages, and this is generally 
the task of childhood and early youth, it is even 
then the business of the preceptor to give his mind 
a turn for observation, to direct his powers of dis- 
cernment, to point out the distinguishing marks of 
character, and dwell upon the charms of moral and 
intellectual beauty, as they may chance to occur in 
the classics that are used for his instruction. In 
reading Cornelius Nepos and Plutarch's Lives, even 
with a view to grammatical improvement only, he 
will insensibly imbibe and learn to compare ideas 
of greater importance. He will become enamoured 
of virtue and patriotism, and acquire a detestation 
for vice, cruelty, and corruption. The perusal of 
the Roman story in the works of Florus, Sallust, 
Livy, and Tacitus, will irresistibly engage his atten- 



CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 99 

tion, expand his conception, cherish his memory, 
exercise his judgment, and warm him with a noble 
spirit of emulation. He will contemplate with love 
and admiration the disinterested candour of Aris- 
tides, surnamed the Just, whom the guilty cabals of 
his rival Themistocles exiled, from his ungrateful 
country by a sentence of ostracism. He will be 
surprised to learn, that one of his fellow T -citizens, 
an illiterate artisan, bribed by his enemies, chancing 
to meet him in the street without knowing his per- 
son, desired he would write Aristides on his shell, 
(which was the method those plebeians used to vote 
against delinquents), when the innocent patriot 
wrote his own name without complaint or expostu- 
lation. He will, with equal astonishment, applaud 
the inflexible integrity of Fabricius, who preferred 
the poverty of innocence to all the pomp of af- 
fluence, with which Fyrrhus endeavoured to seduce 
him from the arms of his country. He will ap- 
prove with transport the noble generosity of his 
soul in rejecting the proposal of that prince's physi- 
cian, who offered to take him off by poison ; and 
in sending the caitiff bound to his sovereign, whom 
he would have so basely and cruelly betrayed. 

In reading the ancient authors, even for the pur- 
poses of school education, the unformed taste will 
begin to relish the irresistible energy, greatness, 
and sublimity of Homer ; the serene majesty, the 
melody, and pathos of Virgil; the tenderness of 
Sappho and Tibullus; the elegance and propriety 
of Terence ; the grace, vivacity, satire, and senti- „ 
ment of Horace. 

Nothing will more conduce to the improvement 
of the scholar in his knowledge of the languages, as 



100 goldsmith's essays. 

well as in taste and morality, than his being obliged 
to translate choice parts and passages of the most 
approved classics, both poetry and prose, especially 
the latter; such as the orations of Demosthenes and 
Isocrates, the Treatise of Longinus on the Sublime, 
the Commentaries of Caesar, the Epistles of Cicero 
and the Younger Pliny, and the two celebrated 
speeches in the Catilinarian conspiracy by Sallust. 
By this practice he will become more intimate with 
the beauties of the writing and the idioms of the 
language from which he translates ; at the same 
time it will form his style, and by exercising his ta- 
lent of expression, make him a more perfect master 
of his mother tongue. Cicero tells us, that in trans- 
lating two orations, which the most celebrated ora- 
tors of Greece pronounced against each other, he 
performed this task, not as a servile interpreter, buf 
as an orator, preserving the sentiments, forms, and 
figures of the original, but adapting the expression 
to the taste and manners of the Romans. — " In qui- 
bus non verbum pro verbo necesse habui reddere, 
sed genus omnium verborum vim que servavi ;" " in 
which I did not think it was necessary to translate 
literally word for word, but I preserved the natural 
and full scope of the whole." Of the same opinion 
was Horace, who says in his Art of Poetry, 

Nee verbum verbo curabis reddere, fidus 
Interpres: 

Nor word for word translate with painful care 

Nevertheless, in taking the liberty here granted, we 
are apt to run into the other extreme, and substitute 
equivalent thoughts and phrases, till hardly any 



CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 101 

features of the original remain. The metaphors of 
figures, especially in poetry, ought to be as reli- 
giously preserved as the images of painting, which 
we cannot alter or exchange without destroying, or 
injuring, at least, the character and style of the 
original. 

In this manner the preceptor will sow the seeds 
of that taste, which will soon germinate, rise, blos- 
som, and produce perfect fruit by dint of future 
care and cultivation. In order to restrain the 
luxuriancy of the young imagination, which is apt 
to run riot, to enlarge the stock of ideas, exercise 
the reason, and ripen the judgment, the pupil must 
be engaged in the severer study of science. He 
must learn geometry, which Plato recommends for 
strengthening the mind, and enabling it to think 
with precision. He must be made acquainted with 
geography and chronology, and trace philosophy 
through all her branches. Without geography and 
chronology he will not be able to acquire a distinct 
idea of history ; nor judge of the propriety of many 
interesting scenes, and a thousand allusions, that 
present themselves in the works of genius. Nothing 
opens the mind so much as the researches of phi- 
losophy ; they inspire us with sublime conceptions 
of the Creator, and subject, as it were, all nature to 
our command. These bestow that liberal turn of 
thinking, and in a great measure contribute to that 
universality in learning, by which a man of taste 
ought to be eminently distinguished. But history 
is the inexhaustible source from which he will de- 
rive his most useful knowledge respecting the pro- 
gress of the human mind, the constitution of go- 



102 goldsmith's essays. 

vernment, the rise and decline of empires, the 
revolution of arts, the variety of character, and the 
vicissitudes of fortune. 

The knowledge of history enables the poet not 
only to paint characters, but also to describe mag- 
nificent and interesting scenes of battle and adven- 
ture. Not that the poet or painter ought to be re- 
strained to the letter of historical truth. History 
represents what has really happened in nature ; the 
other arts exhibit what might have happened, with 
such exaggeration of circumstance and feature as 
may be deemed an improvement on nature : but 
this exaggeration must not be carried beyond the 
bounds of probability : and these, generally speak- 
ing, the knowledge of history will ascertain. It 
would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to 
find a man actually existing, whose proportions 
should answer to those of the Greek statue, distin- 
guished by the name of the Apollo of Belvedere ; 
or to produce a woman similar in proportion of 
parts to the other celebrated piece, called the Venus 
de Medicis ; therefore it may be truly affirmed, that 
they are not conformable to the real standard of 
nature : nevertheless, every artist will own that they 
are the very archetypes of grace, elegance, and 
symmetry; and every judging eye must behold them 
with admiration, as improvements on the lines and 
lineaments of nature. The truth is, the sculptor,or 
statuary composed the various proportions in nature 
from a great number of different subjects, ever}' 
individual of which he found imperfect or defective 
in some one particular, though beautiful in all the 
rest ) and from these observations, corroborated by 



CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 103 

taste and judgment, he formed an ideal pattern, 
according to which his idea was modelled, and pro- 
duced in execution. 

Every body knows the story of Zeuxis, the fa- 
mous painter of Heraciea, who, according to Pliny, 
invented the chiaro oscuro, or disposition of light 
and shade, among the ancients, and excelled all his 
contemporaries in the chromatique, or art of colour- 
ing. This great artist being employed to draw a 
perfect beauty, in the character of Helen, to be 
placed in the Temple of Juno, culled out five of the 
most beautiful damsels the city could produce, and 
selecting what was excellent in each, combined 
them in one picture according to the predisposition 
of his fancy, so that it shone forth an amazing mo- 
del of perfection.* In like manner, every man of 
genius, regulated by true taste, entertains in his 
imagination an ideal beauty, conceived and culti- 
vated as an improvement upon nature : and this we 
refer to the article of invention. 

It is the business of art to imitate nature, but not 
with a servile pencil ; and to choose those attitudes 
and dispositions only, which are beautiful and en- 
gaging. With this view we must avoid all disagree- 
able prospects of nature, which excite the ideas of 
abhorrence and disgust. For example, a painter 

* Praebete igitur niihi quaeso, -inquit, existis virginibus for- 
mosissimas, dum pingo id, quod pollicitus sum vobis, ut 
rautura in simulacrum ex animali exemplo Veritas transfe- 
ratur. — Ille autem quinque delegit. — Neque enim putavit 
omnia, quae quaereret ad venustatem, uno in corpore se re- 
perire posse ; ideo quod nihil simplici in genere omnibus ex 
partibus perfectum natura expolivit. Cic. Lib. 2. de Inv- 
cap. 1. 



104 goldsmith's essays. 

would not find his account in exhibiting the resem- 
blance of a dead carcass, half consumed by vermin, 
or of swine wallowing in ordure, or of a beggar 
lousing himself on a dunghill, though these scenes 
should be painted never so naturally, and all the 
w T orld must allow that the scenes were taken from 
nature, because the merit of the imitation would be 
greatly over-balanced by the vile choice of the artist. 
There are, nevertheless, many scenes of horror, 
which please in the representation, from a certain 
interesting greatness, which we shall endeavour to 
explain when we come to consider the sublime. 

Were w T e to judge every production by the ri- 
gorous rules of nature, we should reject the Iliad of 
Homer, the ^Eneid of Virgil, and every celebrated 
tragedy of antiquity and the present times, because 
there is no such thing in nature as an Hector or 
Turnus talking in hexameter, or an Othello in blank 
verse : we should condemn the Hercules of Sopho- 
cles, and the Miser of Moliere, because w r e never 
knew a hero so strong as the one, or a wretch so 
sordid as the other. But if we consider poetry as 
an elevation of natural dialogue, as a delightful 
vehicle for conveying the noblest sentiments of he- 
roism and patriot virtue, to regale the sense with the 
sounds of musical expression, while the fancy is 
ravished with enchanting images, and the heart 
warmed to rapture and ecstasy, we must allow that 
poetry is a perfection to which nature would gladly 
aspire ; and that though it surpasses, it does not 
deviate from her> provided the characters are mark- 
ed with propriety and sustained with genius. Cha- 
racters, therefore, both in poetry and painting, may 
be a little overcharged or exaggerated, without offer- 



CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 105 

ing violence to nature; nay, they must be exaggera- 
ted in order to be striking, and to preserve the idea 
of imitation, whence the reader and spectator de- 
rive in many instances their chief delight, If we 
meet a common acquaintance in the street, we see 
him without emotion ; but should we chance to spy 
his portrait well executed, we are struck with plea- 
sing admiration. In this case the pleasure arises 
entirely from the imitation. We every day hear 
unmoved the natives of Ireland and Scotland speak- 
ing their own dialects ; but should an Englishman 
mimic either, we are apt to burst out into a loud laugh 
of applause, being surprised and tickled by the imita- 
tion alone, though at the same time we cannot but 
allow that the imitation is imperfect. We are more 
affected by reading Shakspeare's description of 
Dover Cliff, and Ot way's picture of the Old Hag, 
than we should be were we actually placed on the 
summit of the one, or met in reality with such a bel- 
dame as the other, because in reading these descrip- 
tions we refer to our own experience, and perceive 
with surprise the justness of the imitations. But if 
it is so close as to be mistaken for nature, the plea- 
sure then will cease, because the ^i/xria-ig, or imita- 
tion, no longer appears. 

Aristotle says, that all poetry and music is imita- 
tion,* whether epic, tragic, or comic, whether vocal 
or instrumental, from the pipe or the lyre. He ob- 
serves, that in man there is a propensity to imitate 

* 'E7ro7roii<x Brj xa< >j rrig TpotywSiug 7roiYja-ig 9 £Ti §e 
xoifxu&ict. xou >j S^upa^OTro^jT/xyj, xou rr t g otvhil 'ixr) g n 
7rXsio-Tr} xou xiQotpta'Tt}iy}g > 7rcta'txi aToyy^uvouatv ouca* {Mjuriz 
ug to <ruvo\ov. 

f2 



106 goldsmith's essays. 

even from his infancy; that the first perceptions of 
the mind are acquired by imitation ; and seems to 
think that the pleasure derived from imitation is the 
gratification of an appetite implanted by nature, 
We should rather think the pleasure it gives arises 
from the mind's contemplating that excellency of 
art, which thus rivals nature, and seems to vie with 
her in creating such a striking resemblance of her 
works. Thus the arts may be justly termed imita- 
tive even in the article of invention : for in forming 
a character, contriving an incident, and describing 
a scene, he must still keep nature in view, and refer 
every particular of his invention to her standard ; 
otherwise his production will be destitute of truth 
and probability, without which the beauties of imi- 
tation cannot subsist. It will be a monster of in- 
congruity, such as Horace alludes to, in the begin- 
ning of his Epistle to the Pisos : 

Humano capiti cervicem plctor equinam 
Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plumas 
Undique collatis membris, ut turpiter atrum 
Desinat in piscem, mulier formosa superne ; 
Spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amici ? 

Suppose a painter to a human head 
Should join a horse's neck, and wildly spread 
The various plumage of the feather'd kind 
O'er limbs of different beasts absurdly join'd ; 
Or if he gave to view a beauteous maid 
Above the waist with every charm array'd ; 
Should a foul fish her lower parts unfold, 
Would you not laugh such pictures to behold ? 

The magazine of nature supplies all those images 
which compose the most beautiful imitations. This 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. 107 

the artist examines occasionally, as he would con- 
sult a collection of masterly sketches ; and selecting 
particulars for his purpose, mingles the ideas with 
a kind of enthusiasm, or to Sew, which is that gift 
of heaven we call genius, and finally produces such 
a whole as commands admiration and applause. 

XIV. 

ORIGIN OF POETRY. 

The study of polite literature is generally supposed 
to include all the liberal arts of poetry, painting, 
sculpture, music, eloquence, and architecture. All 
these are founded on imitation ; and all of them 
mutually assist and illustrate each other. But as 
painting, sculpture, music, and architecture cannot 
be perfectly attained without long practice of ma- 
nual operation, we shall distinguish them from 
poetry and eloquence, which depend entirely on the 
faculties of the mind ; and on these last, as on the 
arts which immediately constitute the Belles Lettres, 
employ our attention in the present inquiry ; or, if 
it should run to a greater length than we propose, 
it shall be confined to poetry alone ; a subject that 
comprehends, in its full extent, the province of 
taste, or what is called polite literature ; and differs 
essentially from eloquence both in its end and origin. 
Poetry sprang from ease, and was consecrated to 
pleasure ; whereas eloquence arose from necessity, 
and aims at conviction. When we say poetry sprang 
from ease, perhaps we ought to except that species 
of it which owed its rise to inspiration and enthu- 



108 goldsmith's essays. 

siasm, and properly belonged to the culture of reli- 
gion. In the first ages of mankind, and even in the 
original state of nature, the unlettered mind must 
have been struck with sublime conceptions, with ad- 
miration and awe, by those great phenomena,which, 
though every day repeated, can never be viewed 
without internal emotion. Those would break forth 
in exclamations expressive of the passion produced, 
whether surprise or gratitude, terror or exultation. 
The rising, the apparent course, the setting, and 
seeming renovation of the sun ; the revolution of 
light and darkness ; the splendour, change, and cir- 
cuit of the moon ; and the canopy of heaven, be- 
spangled with stars, must have produced expressions 
of wonder and adoration. " O ! glorious luminary ! 
great eye of the world ! source of that light which 
guides my steps ! of that heat wirich warms me when 
chilled with cold ! of that influence which cheers 
the face of nature! whither dost thou retire every 
evening with the shades ? Whence dost thou spring 
every morning with renovated lustre, and never-fa- 
ding glory ? Art not thou the Ruler, the Creator, the 
God, of all that I behold ? I adore thee as thy child, 
thy slave, thy suppliant ! I crave thy protection, 
and the continuance of thy goodness ! Leave me 
not to perish with cold, nor to wander solitary in 
utter darkness ! Return, return, after thy wonted 
absence : drive before thee the gloomy clouds that 
would obscure the face of nature. The birds begin 
to warble, and every animal is filled with gladness 
at thy approach : even the trees, the herbs, and the 
flowers, seem to rejoice with fresher beauties, and 
send forth a grateful incense to thy power, whence 
their origin is derived !" A number of individuals, 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. 109 

inspired with the same ideas, would join in these 
orisons, which would be accompanied with corre- 
sponding gesticulations of the body. They would 
be improved by practice, and grow regular from 
repetition. The sounds and gestures w T ould natu- 
rally fall into measured cadence. Thus the song 
and dance will be produced, and a system of wor- 
ship being formed, the muse would be consecratecl 
to the purposes of religion. 

Hence those forms of thanksgivings and litanies 
of supplication with which the religious rites of all 
nations, even the most barbarous, are at this day 
celebrated in every quarter of the known world. 
Indeed this is a circumstance in which all nations 
surprisingly agree, how much soever they may differ 
in every other article of laws, customs, manners, 
and religion. The ancient Egyptians celebrated the 
festivals of their god Apis with hymns and dances. 
The superstition of the Greeks, partly derived from 
the Egyptians, abounded with poetical ceremonies, 
such as choruses and hymns, sung and danced at 
their apotheoses, sacrifices, games, and divinations. 
The Romans had their carmen seculare and Salian 
priests, who on certain festivals sung and danced 
through the streets of Rome. The Israelites were 
famous for this kind of exultation : " And Miriam 
the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel 
in her hand, and all the women went out after her, 
with timbrels and with dances, and Miriam answer- 
ed them, Sing ye to the Lord," &c. " And David 
danced before the Lord with all his might." The 
psalms composed by this monarch, the songs of 
Deborah and Isaiah, are further confirmations of 
what we have advanced. 



110 goldsmith's essays. 

From the Phoenicians the Greeks borrowed the 
cursed Orthyan song, when they sacrificed their 
children to Diana. The poetry of the bards con- 
stituted great part of the religious ceremonies among 
the Gauls and Britons; and the carousals of the 
Goths were religious institutions, celebrated with 
songs of triumph. The Mahometan dervise dances 
to the sound of the flute, and whorls himself round 
until he grows giddy, and falls into a trance. The 
Marabous compose hymns in praise of Allah. The 
Chinese celebrate their grand festivals with pro- 
cessions of idols, songs, and instrumental music. 
The Tartars, Samoiedes, Laplanders, Negroes, even 
the Caffres, called Hottentots, solemnize their wor- 
ship (such as it is) with songs and dancing ; so that 
we may venture to say, poetry is the universal ve- 
hicle in which all nations have expressed their most 
sublime conceptions. 

Poetry was, in all appearance, previous to any 
concerted plan of worship, and to every established 
system of legislation. When certain individuals, 
by dint of superior prowess or understanding, had 
acquired the veneration of their fellow savages, and 
erected themselves into divinities on the ignorance 
and superstition of mankind ; then mythology took 
place, and such a swarm of deities arose, as pro- 
duced a religion replete with the most shocking ab- 
surdities. Those, whom their superior talents had 
deified, were found to be still actuated by the most 
brutal passions of human nature ; and in all proba- 
bility their votaries were glad to find such examples 
to countenance their own vicious inclinations. Thus 
fornication, incest, rape, and even bestiality, w r ere 
sanctified by the amours of Jupiter, Pan, Mars, 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. Ill 

Venus, and Apollo. Theft was patronized by Mer- 
cury; drunkenness hy Bacchus; and cruelty by 
Diana. The same heroes and legislators, those who 
delivered their country, founded cities, established 
societies, invented useful arts, or contributed in any 
eminent degree to the security and happiness of 
their fellow-creatures, were inspired by the same 
lusts and appetites, which domineered among the 
inferior classes of mankind; therefore every vice 
incident to human nature was celebrated in the 
worship of one or other of these divinities; and 
every infirmity consecrated by public feast and so- 
lemn sacrifice. In these institutions the poet bore 
a principal share. It was his genius that contrived 
the plan, that executed the form of worship, and 
recorded in verse the origin and adventures of their 
gods and demi-gods. Hence the impurities and hor- 
rors of certain rites ; the groves of Paphos and Baal 
Peor ; the orgies of Bacchus ; the human sacrifices 
to Moloch and Diana. Hence the theogony of 
Hesiod ; the theology of Homer ; -and those innu- 
merable maxims scattered through the ancient poets, 
inviting mankind to gratify their sensual appetites, 
in imitation of the gods, who were certainly the best 
judges of happiness. It is well known, that Plato 
expelled Homer from his commonwealth on account 
of the infamous characters by which he has distin- 
guished his deities, as well as for some depraved 
sentiments which he found diffused through the 
course of the Iliad and Odyssey. Cicero enters 
into the spirit of Plato, and exclaims, in his first 
book De Natura Deorum, i4 Nee multa absurdiora 
sunt ea, quag, poetarum vocibus fusa, ipsa suavitate 
nocuerunt : qui, et ira inflammatos, et libidine fu- 



112 goldsmith's essays. 

rentes, induxerunt Deos, feceruntque ut eorum bella, 
pugnas, proelia, vuluera videremus : odia praeterea, 
dissidia, discordias, ortus, interitus, querelas, la- 
mentationes, effusas in omniintemperantia libidines, 
adulteria, vincula, cum humano genere concubitus, 
mortalesque ex ininiortali procreatos." " Nor are 
those things much more absurd, which, flowing from 
the poet's tongue, have done mischief even by the 
sweetness of his expression. The poets have intro- 
duced gods inflamed with anger and enraged with 
lust ; and even produced before our eyes their wars, 
their wrangling, their duels, and their wounds. 
They have exposed, besides, their antipathies, ani- 
mosities, and dissensions ; their origin and death ; 
their complaints and lamentations ; their appetites, 
indulged to all manner of excess ; their adulteries ; 
their fetters ; their amorous commerce with the 
human species, and from immortal parents derived 
a mortal offspring." 

As the festivals of the gods necessarily produced 
good cheer, which was often carried to riot and de- 
bauchery, mirth of consequence prevailed ; and this 
was always attended with buffoonery. Taunts and 
jokes, and raillery and repartee, would necessarily 
ensue ; and individuals would contend for the vic- 
tory in wit and genius. These contests would in 
time be reduced to some regulations, for the enter- 
tainment of the people thus assembled, and some 
prize would be decreed to him who was judged to 
excel his rivals. The candidates for fame and profit 
being thus stimulated, would task their talents, 
and naturally recommend these alternate recrimina- 
tions to the audience, by clothing them with a kind 
of poetical measure, which should bear a near re- 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. 113 

semblance to prose. Thus, as the solemn service of 
the day was composed in the most sublime species 
of poetry, such as the ode or hymn, the subsequent 
altercation was carried on in iambics, and gave rise 
to satire. We are told by the Stagirite, that the 
highest species of poetry was employed in cele- 
brating great actions ; but the humbler sort used in 
this kind of contention ; * and that in the ages of 
antiquity there were some bards that professed he- 
roics, and some that pretended to iambics only. 

To these rude beginnings we not only owe the 
birth of satire, but likewise the origin of dramatic 
poetry. Tragedy herself, which afterwards at- 
tained to such dignity as to rival the epic muse, 
was at first no other than a trial of crambo, or 
iambics, between two peasants, and a goat was 
the prize, as Horace calls it, vile certamen ob hir- 
cuni; " a mean contest for a he-goat." Hence the 
name rpaywha, signifying the goat-song, from 
rpayos hircus, and wly carmen. 

Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum, 
Mox etiam agrestes satyros nudavit, et asper 
Ineolumi gravitate jocum tentavit, eo quod 
Illecebris erat et grata novitate morandus 
Spectator, functusque sacris, et potus et exlex. 

Hor. 

The tragic bard, a goat his humble prize, 
Bade satyrs naked and uncouth arise; 

* < Oi jusv yap (re/uvOTtpot, rag xakag s/jlijulowtq %pa- 
{•sig bt 8g evreKsCTTspoif r<xg rwif (p«uXwv,7rpwT0v koyois 

TTOJOUVTflS'. 



114 goldsmith's essays. 

His muse severe, secure, and undismay'd, 
The rustic joke in solemn strain convey'd; 
For novelty alone he knew could charm 
A lawless crowd, with wine and feasting warm. 

Satire then was originally a clownish dialogue in 
loose iambics, so called, because the actors were 
disguised like satyrs, who not only recited the 
praises of Bacchus, or some other deity, but inter- 
spersed their hymns with sarcastic jokes and alter- 
cation. Of this kind is the Cyclop of Euripides, in 
which Ulysses is the principal actor. The Romans 
also had their Atellance, or interludes of the same 
nature, so called from the city of Atella, where 
they were first acted : but these were highly po- 
lished in comparison of the original entertainment, 
which was altogether rude and innocent. Indeed 
the Cyclop itself, though composed by the accom- 
plished Euripides, abounds with such impurity, as 
ought not to appear on the stage of any civilized 
nation. 

It is very remarkable that the AtellancB, which 
were in effect tragi-comedies, grew into such 
esteem among the Romans, that the performers in 
these pieces enjoyed several privileges which were 
refused to the ordinary actors. They were not 
obliged to unmask, like the other players, when 
their action was disagreeable to the audience. They 
were admitted into the army, and enjoyed the pri- 
vileges of free citizens, without incurring that dis- 
grace, which was affixed to the characters of other 
actors.* The poet Laberius, who was of equestrian 

* Cum artem ludicram, scenamque totam probro duce- 
rent, genus id hominum non modo honore civium reli- 






ORIGIN OF POETRY. 115 

order, being pressed by Julius Caesar to act a part 
in his own performance, complied with great re- 
luctance, and complained of the dishonour he had 
incurred, in his prologue preserved by Macrobius, 
which is one of the most elegant morsels of an- 
tiquity. 

Tragedy and comedy flowed from the same foun- 
tain, though their streams were soon divided. The 
same entertainment which, under the name of tra- 
gedy, w r as rudely exhibited by clowns, for the prize 
of a goat, near some rural altar of Bacchus, as- 
sumed the appellation of comedy, when it was 
transferred into cities, and represented with a little 
more decorum in a cart or waggon, that strolled 
from street to street, as the name xwuwtiia. implies, 
being derived from hw/jlyj, a street, and w5>j, a poem. 
To this origin Horace alludes in these lines : 

Dicitur et plaustris vexisse poemata Thespis 
Qua? eanerent agerentque peruncti fsecibus ora. 

Thespis, inventor of dramatic art, 

Convey'd his vagrant actors in a cart : 

High o'er the crowd the mimic tribe appear'd, 

And play'd and sung, with lees of wine besmear'd. 

Thespis is called the inventor of the dramatic 
art, because he raised the subject from clownish 
altercation to the character and exploits of some 
hero: he improved the language and versification, 
and relieved the chorus by the dialogue of two 

quorum carere, sed etiam tribu rnoveri notatione censoria 
voluerunt. 

Cic. apud S, Aug, de Civit. Dei. 



116 goldsmith's essays. 

actors. This was the first advance towards that 
consummation of genius and art, which constitutes 
what is now called a perfect tragedy. The next 
great improver was iEschylus, of whom the same 
critic says, 

Post hunc person* palteeque repertor honestse 
^Eschylus, et modicis instravit pulpita tignis ; 
Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno. 

Then iEschylus a decent vizard used ; 
Built a low stage ; the flowing robe diffused : 
In language more sublime two actors rage, 
And in the graceful buskin tread the stage. 

The dialogue which Thespis introduced, was 
called the episode, because it was an addition to 
the former subject, namely, the praises of Bacchus ; 
so that now tragedy consisted of two distinct parts, 
independent of each other; the old recitative, 
which was the chorus, sung in honour of the gods ; 
and the episode, which turned upon the adventures 
of some hero. This episode being found very agree- 
able to the people, zEschylus, who lived about 
half a century after Thespis, still improved the 
drama, united the chorus to the episode, so as to 
make them both parts or members of one fable, 
multiplied the actors, contrived the stage, and in- 
troduced the decorations of the theatre ; so that 
Sophocles, who succeeded iEschylus, had but one 
step to surmount, in order to bring the drama to 
perfection. Thus tragedy was gradually detached 
from its original institution, which was entirely re- 
ligious. The priests of Bacchus loudly complained 
of this innovation by means of the episode, which 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. 117 

was foreign to the intention of the chorus; and 
hence arose the proverb of Nihil ad Dionysium, 
" nothing to the purpose." Plutarch himself men- 
tions the episode as a perversion of tragedy, from 
the honour of the gods to the passions of men : but, 
notwithstanding all opposition, the new tragedy 
succeeded to admiration ; because it was found the 
most pleasing vehicle of conveying moral truths, of 
meliorating the heart, and extending the interests 
of humanity. 

Comedy, according to Aristotle, is the younger 
sister of Tragedy. As the first originally turned 
upon the praises of the gods, the latter dwelt on 
the follies and vices of mankind. Such, we mean, 
was the scope of that species of poetry which ac- 
quired the name of comedy, in contradiction to 
the tragic muse : for in the beginning they were the 
same. The foundation, upon which comedy was 
built, we have already explained "to be the practice 
of satirical repartee or altercation, in which indi- 
viduals exposed the follies and frailties of each 
other, on public occasions of worship and festivity. 
The first regular plan of comedy is said to have 
been the margites of Homer, exposing the idleness 
and folly of a worthless character: but of this 
performance we have no remains. That division, 
which is termed the ancient comedy, belongs to the 
labours of Eupolis, Cratinus, and Aristophanes, 
who were contemporaries, and flourished at Athens 
about four hundred and thirty years before the 
Christian era. Such was the licence of the muse 
at this period, that, far from lashing vice in ge- 
neral characters, she boldly exhibited the exact 
portrait of every individual, who had rendered 



1 18 goldsmith's essays. 

himself remarkable or notorious by his crimes, 
folly, or debauchery. She assumed every circum- 
stance of his external appearance, his very attire, 
air, manner, and even 4ns name : according to the 
observation of Horace. 



-Poetse 



-quorum comoedia prisca virorum est : 



Si quis erat dignus describi, quod malus, aut fur. 
Quod mcEchus foret, aut sicarius, aut alioqui 
Famosus, multa cum libertate notabant. 

The comic poets, in its earliest age, 

Who form'd the manners of the Grecian stage— 

Was there a villain who might justly claim 

A better right of being damn'd to fame, 

Rake, cut-throat, thief, whatever was his crime, 

They boldly stigmatised the wretch in rhyme. 

Eupolis is said to have satirized iVlcibiades in tfeis 
manner, and to have fallen a sacrifice to the resent- 
ment of that powerful Athenian : but others say he 
was drowned in' the Hellespont, during a w T ar 
against the Lacedemonians; and that, in conse- 
quence of this accident, the Athenians passed a 
decree, that no poet should ever bear arms. 

The comedies of Cratinus are recommended by 
Quintilian for their eloquence ; and Plutarch tells 
us, that even Pericles himself could not escape the 
censure of this poet. 

Aristophanes, of whom there are eleven come- 
dies still extant, enjoyed such a pre-eminence of 
reputation, that the Athenians by a public decree 
honoured him with a crown made of a consecrated 
olive-tree, which grew in the citadel, for his care 
and success in detecting and exposing the vices 



ORIGIN OF POETRY. 119 

of those who governed the commonwealth. Yet this 
poet, whether impelled by mere wantonness of 
genius, or actuated by malice and envy, could not 
refrain from employing the shafts of his ridicule 
against Socrates, the most venerable character of 
Pagan antiquity. In the comedy of the Clouds, 
this virtuous philosopher was exhibited on the stage 
under his own name, in a cloak exactly resembling 
that which Socrates wore, in a mask modelled from 
his features, disputing publicly on the nature of 
right and wrong. This was undoubtedly an instance 
of the most flagrant licentiousness ; and what ren- 
ders it the more extraordinary, the audience re- 
ceived it with great applause, even while Socrates 
himself sat publicly in the theatre. The truth is, 
the Athenians were so fond of ridicule, that they 
relished it even when employed against the gods 
themselves, some of whose characters were very 
roughly handled by Aristophanes and his rivals in 
reputation. 

We might here draw a parallel between the hu 
habitants of Athens and the natives of England, 
in point of constitution, genius, and disposition. 
Athens was a free state like England, that piqued 
itself upon the influence of the democracy. Like 
England, its wealth and strength depended upon 
its maritime power, and it generally acted as um- 
pire in the disputes that arose among its neighbours. 
The people of Athens, like those of England, were 
remarkably ingenious, and made great progress in 
the arts and sciences. They excelled in poetry, 
history, philosophy, mechanics, and manufactures ; 
they were acute, discerning, disputatious, fickle, 



120 goldsmith's essays. 

wavering, rash, and combustible, and, above all 
other nations in Europe, addicted to ridicule ; a 
character which the English inherit in a vei y re- 
markable degree. 

If we may judge from the writings of Aristo- 
phanes, his chief aim was to gratify the spleen and 
excite the mirth/ of his audience ; of an audience 
too, that would seem to have been uninformed by 
taste, and altogether ignorant of decorum ; for his 
pieces are replete wwith the most extravagant ab- 
surdities, virulent slander, impiety, impurities, and 
low buffoonery. The comic muse, not contented 
with being allowed to make free with the gods and 
philosophers, applied her scourge so severely to the 
magistrates of the commonwealth, that it was 
thought proper to restrain her within bounds by a 
law, enacting that no person should be stigmatised 
under his real name ; and thus the chorus was si- 
lenced. In order to elude the penalty of this law, 
and gratify the taste of the people, the poets began 
to substitute fictitious names, under which they ex- 
hibited particular characters in such lively colours, 
that the resemblance could not possibly be mistaken 
or overlooked. This practice gave rise to what is 
called the middle comedy, which was but of short 
duration: for the legislature, perceiving thut the 
first law had not removed the grievance against 
which it was provided, issued a second ordinance, 
forbidding, under severe penalties, any real or fa- 
mily occurrences to be represented. This restric- 
tion was the immediate cause of improving comedy 
into a general mirror, held forth to reflect the va- 
rious follies and foibles incident to human nature; 






POETRY DISTINGUISHED, &C. 121 

a species of writing called the new comedy, intro- 
duced by Diphilus and Menander, of whose works 
nothing but a few fragments remain. 

XV. 

POETRY DISTINGUISHED FROM OTHER WRITING. 

Having communicated our sentiments touching the 
origin of poetry, by tracing tragedy and comedy to 
their common source, we shall now endeavour to 
point out the criteria, by which poetry is distin- 
guished from every other species of writing. In 
common with other arts, such as statuary and paint- 
ing, it comprehends imitation, invention, composi- 
tion, and enthusiasm. Imitation is indeed the basis 
of all the liberal arts : invention and enthusiasm 
constitute genius, in whatever manner it may be 
displayed. Eloquence of all sorts admits of enthu- 
siasm. Tully says, an orator should be " vehemens 
ut procella, excitatus ut torrens, incensus ut ful- 
men ; tonat, fulgurat, et rapidis eloquential flucti- 
bus cuncta proruit et proturbat." i( Violent as a 
tempest, impetuous as a torrent, and glowing in- 
tense like the red bolt of heaven, he thunders, 
lightens, overthrows, and bears down all before 
him, by the irresistible tide of eloquence." This is 
the " mens divinior at que os magna sonaturum" of 
Horace. This is the talent, 

— — — ileum qui pectus inaniter angit, 
Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet, 
Ut magus. 

With passions not my own who fires my heart ; 
Who with unreal terrors fills my breast, 
As with a magic influence possess'd. 



122 goldsmith's essays. 

We are told, that Michael Angelo Buonaroti used 
to work at his statues in a fit of enthusiasm, during 
which he made the fragments of the stone fly about 
him with surprising violence. The celebrated Lully 
being one day blamed for setting nothing to music 
but the languid verses of Quiuault, was animated 
with the reproach, and running in a fit of enthusiasm 
to his harpsichord, sung in recitative, and accom- 
panied four pathetic lines from the Iphigenia of 
Racine with such expression, as filled the hearers 
with astonishment and horror. 

Though versification be one of the criteria that 
distinguish poetry from prose, yet it is not the sole 
mark of distinction. Were the histories of Polybius 
and Livy simply turned into verse, they would not 
become poems : because they would be destitute of 
those figures, embellishments, and flights of imagi- 
nation, which display the poet's art and invention. 
On the other hand, we have many productions that 
justly lay claim to the title of poetry, without 
having the advantage of versification ; witness the 
Psalms of David, the Song of Solomon, with 
many beautiful hymns, descriptions, and rhapsodies, 
to be found in different parts of the Old Testament ; 
some of them the immediate productions of divine 
inspiration : witness the Celtic fragments, which 
have lately appeared in the English language, and 
are certainly replete with poetical merit. But 
though good versification alone will not constitute 
poetry, bad versification alone will certainly de- 
grade and render disgustful the sublimest senti- 
ments and finest flowers of imagination. This hu- 
miliating power of bad verse appears in many trans- 
lations of the ancient poets ; in Ogilby's Homer, 



POETRY DISTINGUISHED, &C. 123 

Trapp's Virgil, and frequently in Creech's Horace. 
This last indeed is not wholly devoid of spirit, 
but it seldom rises above mediocrity* and as 
Horace says, 

Mediocribus esse poetis 

Non homines, non Di, non concessere columnar. 

But God and man and letter'd post denies 
That poets ever are of middling size. 

How is that beautiful ode, beginning with " Justum 
et tenacem propositi virum," chilled and tamed by 
the following translation : 

He who by principle is sway'd, 

In truth and justice still the same, 
Is neither of the crowd afraid, 

Though civil broils the state inflame ; 
Nor to a haughty tyrant's frown will stoop, 
Nor to a raging storm, when all the winds are up. 

Should nature with convulsions shake, 

Struck with the fiery bolts of Jove, 
The final doom and dreadful crack 

Cannot his constant courage move. 

That long Alexandrine — " Nor to a raging storm, 
when all the winds are up," is drawling, feeble, 
swoln with a pleonasm or tautology, as well as de- 
ficient in the rhyme ; and as for " the dreadful 
crack" in the next stanza, instead of exciting ter- 
ror, it conveys a low and ludicrous idea. How 
much more elegant and energetic is this paraphrase 
of the same ode, inserted in one of the volumes of 
Hume's History of England : 

The man whose mind, on virtue bent, 
Pursues some greatly good intent 
With undiverted aim, 



124 goldsmith's essays. 

Serene beholds the angry crowd ; 
Nor can their clamours fierce and loud 
His stubborn honour tame. 

Nor the proud tyrant's fiercest threat, 
Nor storms that from their dark retreat 

The lawless surges wake : 
Nor Jove's dread bolt that shakes the pole 
The firmer purpose of his soul 

With all its power can shake. 

Should Nature's frame in ruins fall, 
And Chaos o'er the sinking ball 

Resume primeval sway, 
His courage Chance and Fate defies, 
Nor feels the wreck of earth and skies 

Obstruct its destined way. 

If poetry exists independent of versification, it 
will naturally be asked, how then is it to be distin- 
guished ? Undoubtedly by its own peculiar expres- 
sion : it has a language of its own, which speaks so 
feelingly to the heart, and so pleasingly to the ima- 
gination, that its meaning cannot possibly be mis- 
understood by any person of delicate sensations. It 
is a species of painting with words, in which the 
figures are happily conceived, ingeniously arranged, 
affectingly expressed, and recommended with all 
the warmth and harmony of colouring : it consists 
of imagery, description, metaphors, similes, and 
sentiments, adapted with propriety to the subject, 
so contrived and executed as to soothe the ear, sur- 
prise and delight the fancy, mend and melt the 
heart, elevate the mind, and please the understand- 
ing. According to Flaccus : 

Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetae ; 
Aut simul et jueunda et idonea dicere vitse. 



POETRY DISTINGUISHED, &C. 125 

Poets would profit or delight mankind, 

And with the amusing show the instructive join'd. 

Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, 
Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. 

Profit and pleasure mingled thus with art 
To soothe the fancy and improve the heart. 

Tropes and figures are likewise liberally used 
in rhetoric : and some of the most celebrated orators 
have owned themselves much indebted to the poets. 
Theophrastus expressly recommends the poet for 
this purpose. From their source the spirit and 
energy, the pathetic, the sublime, and the beautiful, 
are derived.* But these figures must be more spa- 
ringly used in rhetoric than in poetry, and even 
then mingled with argumentation, and a detail of 
facts altogether different from poetical narration. 
The poet, instead of simply relating the incident, 
strikes off a glowing picture of the scene, and ex- 
hibits it in the most lively colours to the eye of the 
imagination. " It is reported that Homer was 
blind," says Tully in his Tusculan Questions, " yet 
his poetry is no other than painting. What coun- 
try, what climate, what ideas, battles, commotions, 
and contests of men, as well as of wild beasts, has 
he not painted in such a manner as to bring before 
our eyes those very scenes, which he himself could 
not behold !"f We cannot therefore subscribe to 

* Namque ab his (scilicet poetis) et in rebus spiritus, et 
in verbis sublimitas, et in affectibus motus omnis, et in 
personis decor petitur. Quintilian, 1. x. 

t Qua? regio, qua? ora, qua? species forma?, qua? pugna, qui 
malus hominum, qui ferarum, non ita expictus est, ut quas 
ipse non viderit, nos ut videremus, effecerit ! 



126 goldsmith's essays. 

the opinion of some ingenious critics, who have 
blamed Mr. Pope for deviating in some instances 
from the simplicity of Homer, in his translation of 
the Iliad and Odyssey. For example, the Grecian 
bard says simply, the sun rose ; and his translator 
gives us a beautiful picture of the sun rising. 
Homer mentions a person who played upon the 
lyre ; the translator sets him before us warbling to 
the silver strings. If this be a deviation, it is at 
the same time an improvement. Homer himself,- 
as Cicero observes above, is full of this kind of 
painting, and particularly fond of description even 
in situations where the action seems to require 
haste. Neptune, observing from Samothrace the 
discomfiture of the Grecians before Troy, flies to 
their assistance, and might have been wafted thi- 
ther in half a line ; but the bard describes him, 
first, descending the mountain on which he sat ; 
secondly,. striding towards his palace at ^Egae, and 
yoking his horses ; thirdly, he describes Jiini putting 
on his armour ; and lastly, ascending his car, and 
driving along the surface of the sea. Far from 
being disgusted by these delays, we are delighted 
with the particulars of the description. Nothing 
can be more sublime than the circumstance of the 
mountain's trembling beneath the ^footsteps of an 
immortal : 

Tpejue V ovpsoL juaxptx 'aolivKyj 

YIqccw lift aSavaroiiTi Yloasidawvos iovtc;. 

But his passage to the Grecian fleet is altogether 
transporting. 

B>7$' sXa«i/ ?7n xv[j.xt\ &e. 



POETRY DISTINGUISHED, &C. 127 

He mounts the car, the golden scourge applies, 
He sits superior, and the chariot flies ; 
His whirling wheels the glassy surface sweep : 
The enormous monsters, rolling o'er the deep, 
Gambol around him on the watery way, 
And heavy whales in awkward measures play; 
The sea subsiding spreads a level plain, 
Exults and crowns the monarch of the main; 
The parting waves before his coursers fly ; 
The wandering waters leave his axle dry. 

With great veneration for the memory of Mr. 
Pope, we cannot help objecting to some lines of 
this translation. We have no idea of the sea's ex- 
ulting and crowning Neptune, after it had subsided 
into a level plain. There is no such image in the 
original. Homer says, the whales exulted, and 
knew or owned their king ; and that the sea parted 
with joy ; yrjSocrvvYi §6 ^olKolo-uo. ZuaToi.ro. Neither 
is there a word of the wandering waters; we 
therefore think the lines might be thus altered to 
advantage : 

They knew and own'd the monarch of the main; 
The sea subsiding spreads a level plain; 
The curling waves before his coursers fly : 
The parting surface leaves his brazen axle dry. 

Besides the metaphors, similes, and allusions of 
poetry, there is an infinite variety of tropes or turns 
of expression, occasionally disseminated through 
works of genius, which serve to animate the whole, 
and distinguish the glowing effusions of real inspi- 
ration from the cold efforts of mere science. These 
tropes consist of a certain happy choice and ar- 
rangement of words, by which ideas are artfully 
disclosed in a great variety of attitudes 5 of epi- 



128 goldsmith's essays. 

thets, and compound epithets ; of sounds collected 
in order to echo the sense conveyed; of apo- 
strophes ; and above all, the enchanting use of the 
prosopopoeia, which is a kind of magic, by which 
the poet gives life and motion to every inanimate 
part of nature. Homer, describing the wrath of 
Agamemnon, in the first book of the Iliad, strikes 
off a glowing image in two words : 

■Og-g-S §' o; 7TVpi "k0CfX7rST0VVTl SlXTT t V. 

— And from his eye-balls flashed the living fire. 

This indeed is a figure, which has been copied by 
Virgil, and almost all the poets of every age — oculis 
mi cat acribus ignis — ignescunt irae: duris dolor 
ossibus ardet. Milton, describing Satan in hell, 
says, 

With head uplift above the wave, and eye 
That sparkling blazed ! — 
— He spake : and to confirm his words outflew 
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 
Of mighty cherubims . The sudden blaze . 
Far round illumined hell— ■ 

There are certain words in every language parti- 
cularly adapted to the poetical expression; some 
from the image or idea they convey to the imagina- 
tion, and some from the effect they have upon the 
ear. The first are truly figurative ; the others may 
be called emphatical. — Rollin observes, that V r irgil 
has upon many occasions poetized (if we may be 
allowed the expression) a whole sentence by means 
of the same word, which is pendere. 

Ite meae, felix quondam pecus, ite capellae. 
Non ego vos posthac, viridi projeetus in antro, 
Dumosa pendere procul de rupe videbo. 



POETRY DISTINGUISHED, &C. 129 

At ease reclined beneath the verdant shade, 
No more shall I behold my happy flock 
Aloft hang browsing on the tufted rock. 

Here the word pendere wonderfully improves the 
landscape, and renders the whole passage beauti- 
fully picturesque. The same figurative verb we 
meet with in many different parts of the iEneid. 

Hi summo in fluctu pendent, his unda dehiscens 
Terrain inter fluctus aperit. 

These on the mountain billow hung; to those 
The yawning waves the yellow sand disclose. 

In this instance, the words pendent and dehiscens, 
hung and yawning, are equally poetical. Addison 
seems to have had this passage in his eye, when 
he wrote his hymn, which is inserted in the Spec- 
tator, 

— For though in dreadful worlds we hung. 
High on the broken wave. 

And in another piece of a like nature, in the same 
collection : 

Thy Providence my life sustain'd, 

And all my wants redress'd, 
When in the silent womb I lay, 

And hung upon the breast. 

Shakspeare, in his admired description of Dover 
cliff, uses the same expression : 



» half way down 



Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade ! 
G 2 



130 goldsmith's essays. 

Nothing can be more beautiful than the following 
picture, in which Milton has introduced the same 
expressive tint : 

- he, on his side 



Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love 
Hung over her enamour' d 

We shall give one example more from Virgil, to 
show in what a variety of scenes it may appear with 
propriety and effect. In describing the progress of 
Dido's passion for iEneas, the poet says, 

Iliacos iterum demens audire labores 
Exposeit, pendetque iterum narrantis ab ore. 

The woes of Troy once more she begg'd to hear ; 
Once more the mournful tale employ'd his tongue, 
While in fond rapture on his lips she hung. 

The reader w T ill perceive in all these instances 
that no other word could be substituted with equal 
energy ; indeed no other word could be used with- 
out degrading the sense, and defacing the image. 

There are many other verbs of poetical import 
fetched from nature, and from art, which the poet 
uses to advantage both in a literal and metaphorical 
sense ; and these have been always translated for 
the same purpose from one language to another ; 
such as quasso, conditio, cio, suscito, lento, scevio, 
mano, fluo, ardeo, mico, aro, to shake, to wake, to 
rouse, to soothe, to rage, to flow, to shine or blaze, 
to plough. — Quassantia tectum limina JEneas, cam 
concussus acerbo — JEre ciere vivos, Martemque ac- 
cendere cantu — Mneas acuit Mart em et se suscitat 
ird — Impium lenite clamor em. Lenibant cur as — Ne 



POETRY DISTINGUISHED, &C. 131 

saevi magna sacerdos — Sudor ad imos manabat solos 
— Suspensceque diu lacrymos fluxere per or a — Juve- 
nali ardebat amore — Micat cereus ensis — Nullum 
maris cequor arandum. It will be unnecessary to 
insert examples of the same nature from the English 
poets. 

The words we term emphatical, are such as by 
their sound express the sense they are intended to 
convey ; and with these the Greek abounds, above 
all other languages, not only from its natural co- 
piousness, flexibility, and significance, but also from 
the variety of its dialects, which enables a writer to 
vary his terminations occasionally as the nature of 
the subject requires, without offending the most de- 
licate ear, or incurring the imputation of adopting 
vulgar provincial expressions. Every smatterer in 
Greek can repeat 

Br} 8' ocxewv 7rotpa Siva. itoXv<pb.GKr£oio ^aXaccrj;. 

in which the two last words wonderfully echo to the 
sense, conveying the idea of the sea dashing on the 
shore. How much more significant in sound than 
that beautiful image of Shakspeare — 

" The sea that on the unnumber'd pebbles beats." 

And yet, if we consider the strictness of propriety, 
this last expression would seem to have been select 
ed on purpose to concur with the other circum- 
stances which are brought together to ascertain the 
vast height of Dover cliff : for the poet adds, " can- 
not be heard so high." The place where Gloster 
stood was so high above the surface of the sea, that 
the <pAo<o-§of, or dashing, could not be heard ; and 



132 goldsmith's essays. 

therefore an enthusiastic admirer of Shakspeare 
might with some plausibility affirm, the poet had 
chosen an expression in which that sound is not at 
all conveyed. 

In the very same page of Homer's -Iliad, we 
meet with two other striking instances of the same 
sort of beauty. Apollo, incensed at the insults his 
priest had sustained, descends from the top of Olym- 
pus, with his bow and quiver rattling on his shoulder 
as he moved along : 

ExAayfay ^ <xp otcrTCi sk w/jkiov. 

Here the sound of the word ExXayfav admirably 
expresses the clanking of armour ; as the third line 
after this surprisingly imitates the twanging of a 
bow. 

Aeivr) §6 xAayyrj ysntr apyvpeoio /3<oio. 
In shrill-toned murmurs sung the twanging bow. 

Many beauties of the same kind are scattered 
through Homer, Pindar, and Theocritus, such as 
the ficpGsvcrix [xO^a-aoL, susurrans apicula; the atu 
•^lOvpta-jua, dulcem susurrum ; and the y.z\urltTOii 
for the sighing of the pine. 

The Latin language teems with sounds adapted to 
every situation, and the English is not destitute of 
this significant energy. We have the cooing turtle, 
the sighing reed, the warbling rivulet, the sliding 
stream, the whispering breeze, the glance, the gleam, 
the flash, the bickering flame, the dashing wave, the 
gushing spring, the howling blast, the rattling storm, 
the jittering shower, the crimp earth, the moulder- 
ing tower, the twanging bow-string, the clanging 



ON METAPHOR. 133 

arms, the clanking chains, the twinkling stars, the 
tinkling chords, the trickling drops, the twittering 
swallow, the cawing rook, the screeching owl ; and 
a thousand other words and epithets wonderfully 
suited to the sense they imply. 

Among the select passages of poetry which we 
shall insert by way of illustration, the reader will 
find instances of all the different tropes and figures, 
which the best authors have adopted in the variety 
of their poetical works, as well as of the apostrophe, 
abrupt transition, repetition, and prosopopoeia. 

In the mean time it will be necessary still further 
to analyse those principles, which constitute thees- 
sence of poetical merit ; to display those delightful 
parterres, that teem with the fairest flowers of ima- 
gination, and distinguish between the gaudy off- 
spring of a cold insipid fancy, and the glowing pro- 
geny, diffusing sweets, produced and invigorated by 
the sun of genius, 

XVI. 

ON METAPHOR. 

Of all the implements of poetry the metaphor is 
the most generally and successfully used, and indeed 
may be termed the muse's caduceus, by the power 
of which she enchants all nature. The t metaphor is 
a shorter simile, or rather a kind of magical coat, 
by which the same idea assumes a thousand different 
appearances. Thus the word plough, which origi- 
nally belongs to agriculture, being metaphorically 
used, represents the motion of a ship at sea, and 
the effects of old age upon the human counte- 
nance — 



134 goldsmith's essays. 

— Plough'd the bosom of the deep — i 

And Time had plough'd his venerabie front. 

Almost every verb, noun substantive, or term of 
art in any language, may be in this manner applied 
to a variety of subjects with admirable effect ; but 
the danger is in sowing metaphors too thick, so as 
to distract the imagination of the reader, and incur 
the imputation of deserting nature, in order to 
hunt after conceits. Every day produces poems of 
all kinds so inflated with metaphor, that they may 
be compared to the gaudy bubbles blown up from a 
solution of soap. Longinus is of opinion, that a 
multitude of metaphors is never excusable, except 
in those cases when the passions are roused, and 
like a winter torrent, rush down impetuous, sweep- 
ing them with collective force along. He brings an 
instance of the following quotation from Demo- 
sthenes. " Men (says he) profligates, miscreants, 
and flatterers, who, having severally preyed upon the 
bowels of their country, at length betrayed her 
liberty, first to Philip, and now again to Alex- 
ander : who, placing the chief felicity of life in the 
indulgence of infamous lusts and appetites, over- 
turned in the dust that freedom and independence, 
which was the chief aim and end of all our worthy 
ancestors — ." * 

* Al>Qpot)7T0l, <prj(?i)/uLictpoi, XOLl CthOLFTOpsg, XOLl H0\aX6S t 
flY.pix)Tr l pio(.arfxv;oi rtxg eotvrtvv extxcroi 7ra.Tpi$txg, ty,v eXvjQe- 
pixv Ttpo7T67r(jJxoTsg 9 7rporepov <&ihi7T7rio, vvv 8* AXs^avScy, 
t»3 yxcrrpi /.LSTpovvTBg xou roig aicry^iaTOtgrriV euSa^owav, 
t>jv o" eXevQepiay, xxt to ///jSsva s%e<v ^6C7fotyiv aUTO», a 
roig TrpOTepois'EkXrtO-iv opoircvv otytxQoov r)<rav xou xotvoveg? 

&C.&C. 



ON METAPHOR. 135 

Aristotle andTheophrastus seem to think it is ra- 
ther too bold and hazardous to use metaphors so 
freely, without interposing some mitigating phrase ; 
such as, " if I may be allowed the expression," or 
some equivalent excuse. At the same time, Lon- 
ginus finds fault with Plato for hazarding some me- 
taphors, which indeed appear to be equally affected 
and extravagant, when he says, " the government 
of a state should not resemble a bowl of hot fer- 
menting wine, but a cool and moderate beverage, 
chastised by the sober deity*' — a metaphor that sig- 
nifies nothing more than " mixed or lowered with 
water." Demetrius Phalereus justly observes, that 
though a judicious use of metaphors wonderfully 
raises, sublimes, and adorns oratory or elocution, 
yet they should seem to flow naturally from the sub- 
ject ; and too great a redundancy of them inflates 
the discourse to a mere rhapsody. The same obser- 
vation will hold in poetry ; and the more liberal or 
sparing use of them will depend in a great measure 
on the nature of the subject. 

Passion itself is very figurative, and often bursts 
out into metaphors ; but in touching the pathos, the 
poet must be perfectly well acquainted with the 
emotions of the human soul, and carefully distin- 
guish between those metaphors which rise glowing 
from the heart, and those cold conceits, which are 
engendered in the fancy. Should one of these last 
unfortunately intervene, it will be apt to destroy 
the whole effect of the most pathetical incident or 
situation. Indeed it requires the most delicate taste, 
and a consummate knowledge of propriety, to em- 
ploy metaphors in such a manner, as to avoid what 
the ancients called the to -^vxpov the /rigid, or false 



136 goldsmith's essays. 

sublime. Instances of this kind were frequent even 
among the correct ancients. Sappho herself is blamed 
for using the hyperbole Ksvxorspot x iov °s 9 whiter than 
snow. Demetrius is so nice as to be disgusted at 
the simile of swift as the tcind ; though, in speak- 
ing of a race-horse, we know from experience that 
this is not even an hyperbole. He would have had 
more reason to censure that kind of metaphor, 
which Aristotle styles x«t' svepysiav, exhibiting 
things inanimate as endued with sense and reason ; 
such as that of the sharp-pointed arrow eager to 
take wing among the crowd. " o £u§eXrj? xa9' ofxihov 
hrtwTstrfou [xbvbxivojv" Not but that in descriptive 
poetry this figure is often allowed and admired. 
The cruel sword, the ruthless dagger, the ruffian 
blast, are epithets which frequently occur. The 
faithful bosom of the earth, the joyous boughs, the 
trees that admire their images reflected in the stream, 
and many other examples of this kind, are found 
disseminated through the works of our best modern 
poets ; yet still they must be sheltered under the 
privilege of the poetica Ucentia; and, except in 
poetry, they would give offence. 

More chaste metaphors are freely used in all kinds 
of writing ; more sparingly in history, and more 
abundantly in rhetoric : we have seen that Plato 
indulges in them even to excess. The orations of 
Demosthenes are animated, and even inflamed with 
metaphors, some of them so bold as even to entail 
upon him the censure of the critics. Tore t^ ITvSaw 
ry priropi peovn xa9' v/jlcov. — " then I did not yield to 
Python the orator, when he overflovjed you with a 
tide of eloquence." Cicero is still more liberal in 
the use of them ; he ransacks all nature, and pours 



ON METAPHOR. 137 

forth a redundancy of figures, even with a lavish 
hand. Even the chaste Xenophon, who generally 
illustrates his subject by w r ay of simile, sometimes 
ventures to produce an expressive metaphor, such as 
part of the phalanx fluctuated in the march : and in- 
deed nothing can be more significant than this word 
et-ixv/xYive, to represent a body of men staggered, 
and on the point of giving way. Armstrong has 
used the word fluctuate with admirable efficacy, in 
his philosophical poem intituled the Art of Pre- 
serving Health. 

O ! when the growling winds contend, and all 
The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm, 
To sink in warm repose, and hear the din 
Howl o'er the steady battlements 

The word fluctuate on this occasion not only exhi- 
bits an idea of struggling, but also echoes to the 
sense like the e$pi%ev Be jua-^Yi of Homer ; which, by 
the bye, it is impossible to render into English : for 
the verb (ppio-a-o) signifies not only to stand erect 
like prickles, as a grove of lances, but also to make 
a noise like the crashing of armour, the hissing of 
javelins, and the splinters of spears. 

Over and above an excess of figures, a young au- 
thor is apt to run into a confusion of mixed meta- 
phors, which leave the sense disjointed, and distract 
the imagination : Shakspeare himself is often guilty 
of these irregularities. The soliloquy in Hamlet, 
which we have so often heard extolled in terms of 
admiration, is, in our opinion, a heap of absurdities, 
whether w r e consider the situation, the sentiment, 
the argumentation, or the poetry. Hamlet is in- 
formed by the ghost, that his father was murdered, 



138 goldsmith's essays. 

and therefore he is tempted to murder himself, 
even after he had promised to take vengeance on 
the usurper, and expressed the utmost eagerness to 
achieve this enterprize. It does not appear that 
he had the least reason to wish for death ; but 
every motive, which may be supposed to influence 
the mind of a young prince, concurred to render life 
desirable — revenge towards the. usurper; love for 
the fair Ophelia ; and the ambition of reigning. Be- 
sides, when he had an opportunity of dying without 
being accessary to his own death ; when he had no- 
thing to do but, in obedience to his uncle's com- 
mand, to allow himself to be conveyed quietly to 
England, where he was sure of suffering death ; 
instead of amusing himself with meditations on 
mortality, he very wisely consulted the means of 
self-preservation, turned the tables upon his attend- 
ants, and returned to Denmark. But granting him 
to have been reduced to the lowest state of de- 
spondence, surrounded with nothing but horror and 
despair, sick of this life, and eager to tempt futu- 
rity, we shall see how far he argues like a philo- 
sopher. 

In order to support this general charge against an 
author so universally held in veneration, whose very 
errors have helped to sanctify his character among 
the multitude, w 7 e will descend to particulars, and 
analyse this famous soliloquy. 

Hamlet, having assumed the disguise of madness, 
as a cloak, under which he might the more effec- 
tually revenge his father's death upon the murderer 
and usurper, appears alone upon the stage in a pen- 
sive and melancholy attitude, and communes with 
himself in these words : 



ON METAPHOR. 139 

To be, or not to be ? That is the question. 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And by opposing, end them ? — To die — to sleep — 

No more ; and by a sleep, to say, we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to ; 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wish'd. — To die — to sleep — 

To sleep ! perchance to dream ; ay, there's the rub — 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. There's the respect 

That makes calamity of so long life ; 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

Wlien he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? who would fardles bear, 

To groan and sweat under a weary life, 

But that the dread of something after death 

(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 

No traveller returns) puzzles the will ; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of. 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 

And enterprizes of great pith and moment, 

With this regard their currents turn away, 

And lose the name of action. 

We have already observed that there is not any 
apparent circumstance in the fate or situation of 
Hamlet, that should prompt him to harbour one 
thought of self-murder ; and therefore these expres- 
sions of despair imply an impropriety in point of 
character. But supposing his condition was truly 



140 goldsmith's essays. 

desperate, and he saw no possibility of repose but 
in the uncertain harbour of death, let us see in what 
manner he argues on that subject. The question is, 
" To be, or not to be ?" to die by my own hand, or 
live and suffer the miseries of iife. He proceeds 
to explain the alternative in these terms, " Whether 
'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, or endure the 
frowns of fortune, or to take arms, and by oppo- 
sing, end them." Here he deviates from his first 
proposition, and death is no longer the question. 
The only doubt is, whether he will stoop to mis- 
fortune, or exert his faculties in order to surmount 
it. This surely is the obvious meaning, and indeed 
the only meaning that can be implied in these 
words, 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing, end them. 

He now drops this idea, and reverts to his reason- 
ing on death, in the course of which he owns him- 
self deterred from suicide by the thoughts of what 
may follow death ; 

.the dread of something after death 

(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne 
No traveller returns.) 

This might be a good argument in a Heathen or 
Pagan, and such indeed Hamlet really was ; but 
Shakspeare has already represented him as a good 
Catholic, who must have been acquainted with the 
truths of revealed religion, and says expressly in this 
very play, 



ON METAPHOR. 141 

. . Had not the Everlasting fix'd 

His canon 'gainst self-murder. 

Moreover, he had just been conversing with his 
father's spirit, piping hot from purgatory, which 
we presume is not within the bourne of this world. 
The dread of what may happen after death (says he) 

Makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of. 

This declaration at least implies some knowledge 
of the other world, and expressly asserts, that there 
must be ills in that world, though what kind of ills 
they are, we do not know. The argument there- 
fore may be reduced to this lemma : this world 
abounds with ills which I feel; the other world 
abounds with ills, the nature of which I do not 
know : therefore, 1 will rather bear those ills I have, 
" than fly to others which I know not of :" a de- 
duction amounting to a certainty with respect to 
the only circumstance that could create a doubt, 
namely, whether in death he should rest from his 
misery ; and if he was certain there were evils in 
the next world, as well as in this, he had no room 
to reason at all about the matter. What alone 
could justify his thinking on this subject, would 
have been the hope of flying from the ills of this 
world, without encountering any others in the 
next; 

Nor is Hamlet more accurate in the following 
reflection : 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all. 

A bad conscience will make us cowards ; but a 
good conscience will make us brave. It does not 
appear that any thing lay heavy on his conscience ; 



142 goldsmith's essays. 

and from the premises we cannot help inferring, 
that conscience in this case was entirely out of the 
question. Hamlet was deterred from suicide by a 
full conviction, that in flying from one sea of trou- 
bles which he did know, he should fall into another 
which he did not know. 

His whole chain of reasoning, therefore, seems 
inconsistent and incongruous. " I am doubtful 
whether I should live or do violence upon my own 
life : for I know not whether it is more honourable 
to bear misfortune patiently, than to exert myself 
in opposing misfortune, and by opposing, end it." 
Let us throw it into the form of a syllogism, it will 
stand thus : " I am oppressed with ills : I know 
not whether it is more honourable to bear those ills 
patiently, or to end them by taking arms against 
them ; ergo, I am doubtful whether I should slay 
myself or live. To die is no more than to sleep ; 
and to say that by a sleep we end the heart-ache, &c. 
" 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd." Now, 
to say it was of no consequence unless it had been 
true. "lam afraid of the dreams that may hap- 
pen in that sleep of death ; and I choose rather to 
bear those ills I have in this life than fly to other ills 
in that undiscovered country, from whose bourne no 
traveller ever returns. I have ills that are almost 
insupportable in this life. I know not what is in 
the next, because it is an undiscovered country : 
ergo, I'd rather bear those ills I have, than fly to 
others which I know not of." Here the conclusion 
is by no means warranted by the premises. "lam 
sore afflicted in this life ; but I will rather bear the 
afflictions of this life than plunge myself in the 
afflictions of another life : ergo, conscience makes 



ON METAPHOR. 143 

cowards of us all." But this conclusion would jus- 
tify the logician in saying, negatur consequens ; for 
it is entirely detached both from the major and 
minor proposition. 

The soliloquy is not less exceptionable in the 
propriety of expression than in the chain of argu- 
mentation. — "To die — to sleep — no more/' con- 
tains an ambiguity which all the art of punctuation 
cannot remove ; for it may signify that " to die is to 
sleep no more; or the expression " no more" may 
be considered as an abrupt apostrophe in thinking, 
as if he meant to say — " no more of that reflection." 

" Ay, there's the rub" — is a vulgarism beneath 
the dignity of Hamlet's character, and the words 
that follow leave the sense imperfect ; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause. 

Not the dreams that might come, but the fear of 
what dreams might come, occasioned the pause or 
hesitation. Respect in the same line may be allowed 
to pass for consideration : but 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

according to the invariable acceptation of the words 
wrong and contumely, can signify nothing but the 
wrongs sustained by the oppressor, and the contu- 
mely or abuse thrown upon the proud man ; though 
it is plain that Shakspeare used them in a different 
sense : neither is the word spurn a substantive ! yet 
as such he has inserted it in these lines : 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 



144 goldsmith's essays. 

If we consider the metaphors of the soliloquy, 
we shall find them jumbled together in a "strange 
confusion. 

If the metaphors were reduced to painting, we 
should find it a very difficult task, if not altogether 
impracticable, to represent with any propriety out- 
rageous Fortune using her slings and arrows, be- 
tween which indeed there is no sort of analogy in 
nature. Neither can any figure be more ridiculously 
absurd than that of a man taking arms against a sea, 
exclusive of the incongruous medly of slings, ar- 
rows, and seas, justled within the compass of one 
reflection. What follows is a strange rhapsody of 
broken images, of sleeping, dreaming, and shifting 
off a coil, which last conveys no idea that can be 
represented on canvass. A man may be exhibited 
shuffling off his garments or his chains : but how he 
should shuffle off a coil, which is another name for 
noise and tumult, we cannot comprehend. Then we 
have "long-lived Calamity," and "Time armed 
with whips and scorns;" and patient "Merit 
spumed at by Unworthiness ;" and " Misery with a 
bare bodkin going to make his own quietus," which 
at best is but a mean metaphor. These are followed 
by figures " sweating under fardles of burdens," 
" puzzled with doubts," " shaking with fears/' and 
" flying from evils." Finally, we see "resolution 
sicklied o'er with pale thought," a conception like 
that of representing health by sickness ; and a 
" current of pith turned away, so as to lose the 
name of action," which is both an error in fancy 
and a solecism in sense. In a word, this soliloquy 
may be compared to the cegri somnia, and the 
tabula, cujus vance fingentur species. 



ON METAPHOR. 145 

But while we censure the chaos of broken, incon- 
gruous metaphors, we ought also to caution the 
young poet against the opposite extreme of pursuing 
a metaphor until the spirit is quite exhausted in a 
succession of cold conceits ; such as we see in the 
following letter, said to be sent by Tamerlane to the 
Turkish emperor Bajazet. " Where is the monarch 
that dares oppose our arms ? Where is the potentate 
who does not glory in being numbered among our 
vassals ? As for thee, descended from a Turcoman 
mariner, since the vessel of thy unbounded ambition 
hath been wrecked in the gulph of thy self-love, it 
would be proper that thou shouldest furl the sails of 
thy temerity, and cast the anchor of repentance in 
the port of sincerity and justice, which is the har- 
bour of safety ; lest the tempest of our vengeance 
make thee perish in the sea of that punishment thou 
hast deserved." 

But if these laboured conceits are ridiculous in 
poetry, they are still more inexcusable in prose : 
such as we find them frequently occur in Strada's 
Bellum Belgicum. " Vix descenderat a praetoria 
navi Caesar, cum fceda ilico exorta in portu tem- 
pestas, classem impetu disjecit, praetoriam hausit ; 
quasi non vecturam amplius Caesarem Caesarisque 
fortunam." " Caesar had scarcely set his feet on 
shore, when a terrible tempest arising, shattered 
the fleet even in the harbour, and sent to the bottom 
the praetorian ship, as if he resolved it should no 
longer carry Caesar and his fortunes/* 

Yet this is modest in comparison of the following 
flowers : " Alii, pulsis e tormento catenis discerpti 
sectique, dimidiato corpore pugnabant sibi supersta- 
tes, ac peremptae partis ultores." " Others, di.sse^ 

H 



146 goldsmith's essays. 

vered and cut in twain by chain-shot, fought with 
one half of their bodies that remained, in revenge 
for the other half that was slain." 

Homer, Horace, and eren the chaste Virgil, is 
not free from conceits. The latter, speaking of a 
man's hand cut off in battle, says, 

Te decisa suum, Laride, dextera quaerit : 
Semianimesque micant digiti, ferrumque retractant: 

thus enduing the amputated hand with sense and 
volition. This, to be sure, is a violent figure, and 
hath been justly condemned by some accurate critics ; 
but w r e think they are too severe in extending the 
same censure to some other passages in the most ad- 
mired authors. 
Virgil in his Sixth Eclogue says, 

Omnia quse, Phcebo quondam meditante, beatus 
Audiit Eurotas, jussitque ediscere lauros, 
Hie canit. 

Whate'er when Phoebus bless'd the Arcadian plain 
Eurotas heard and taught his bays the strain, 
The senior sung 

And Pope has copied the conceit in his Pastorals, 

Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along, 
And bade his willows learn the mourning song. 

Vida thus begins his First Eclogue : 

Dicite, vos, Musae, et juvenum memorate querelas? 

Dicite : nam moras ipsas ad carmina cautes, 

Et requiesse suos perhibent vaga flumina cursus. , 

Say, heavenly muse, their youthful frays rehearse ; 
Begin, ye daughters of immortal verse ; 
Exulting rocks have own'd the power of song, 
And rivers listen'd as they flow'd along. 



ON METAPHOR. 147 

Racine adopts the same bold figure in his Phaedra : 
Le flot qui 1' apporta recule epouvante : 
The wave that bore him, backwards shrunk appall'd. 

Even Milton has indulged himself in the same 
licence of expression — 

— — x\s when to them who sail 

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 

Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow 

Sabaean odour from the spicy shore 

Of Araby the bless'd ; with such delay 

Well pleased, they slack their course, and many a league 

Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. 

Shakspeare says, 

I've seen 

The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
To be exalted with the threatening clouds. 

And indeed more correct writers, both ancient 
and modern, abound with the same kind of figure, 
which is reconciled to propriety, and even invested 
with beauty, by the efficacy of the prosopopoeia, 
which personifies the object. Thus, when Virgil 
says Enipeus heard the songs of Apollo, he raises 
up, as by enchantment, the idea of a river god 
crowned with sedges, his head raised above the 
stream, and in his countenance the expression of 
pleased attention. By the same magic we see, in 
the couplet quoted from Pope's Pastorals, old father 
Thames leaning upon his urn, and listening to the 
poet's strain. 

Thus in the regions of poetry, all nature, even the 
passions and affections of the mind, may be per- 
sonified into picturesque figures for the entertain- 
ment of the reader. Ocean smiles or frowns, as the 



143 goldsmith's essays. 

sea is calm or tempestuous ; a'triton rules on every 
angry billow ; every mountain has its nymph ; every 
stream its naiad ; every tree its hamadryad ; and 
every art its genius. We cannot therefore assent to 
those who censure Thomson as licentious for using 
the following figure : 

O vale of bliss ! O softly swelling hills ! 
On which the Power of Cultivation lies, 
And joys to see the wonders of his toil. 

We cannot conceive a more beautiful image than 
that of the Genius of Agriculture distinguished by 
the implements of his art, imbrowned with labour, 
glowing with health, crowned with a garland of 
foliage, flowers, and fruit, lying stretched at his ease 
on the brow of a gentle swelling hill, and contem- 
plating with pleasure the happy effects of his own 
industry. 

Neither can we join issue against Shakspeare for 
this comparison, which hath likewise incurred the 
censure of the critics : 

The noble sister of Poplicola, 

The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle, 
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow, 
And hangs on Dian's temple 

This is no more than illustrating a quality of the 
mind, by comparing it with a sensible object. If 
there is no impropriety in saying such a man is tine 
as steel, firm as a rock, inflexible as an oak, unstea- 
dy as the ocean, or in describing a disposition cold 
as ice, or fickle as the wind ; and these expressions 
are justified by constant practice ; we shall hazard 
an assertion, that the comparison of a chaste woman 
to an icicle is proper and picturesque, as it obtains 
only in the circumstances of cold and purity ; but 



ON METAPHOR. 149 

that the addition of its being curdled from the purest 
snow, and hanging on the temple of Diana, the pa- 
troness of virginity, heightens the whole into a most 
beautiful simile, that gives a very respectable and 
amiable idea of the character in question. 

The simile is no more than an extended metaphor, 
introduced to illustrate and beautify the subject : it 
ought to be apt, striking, properly pursued, and 
adorned with all the graces of poetical melody. But 
a simile of this kind ought never to proceed from the 
mouth of a person under any great agitation of spirit ; 
such as a tragic character overwhelmed with grief, 
distracted by contending cares, or agonising in the 
pangs of death. The language of passion will not 
admit simile, which is always the result of study 
and deliberation. We will not allow a hero the 
privilege of a dying swan, which is said to chant its 
approaching fate in the most melodious strain ; and 
therefore nothing can be more ridiculously unnatural 
than the representation of a lover dying upon the 
stage with a laboured simile in his mouth. 

The orientals, whose language was extremely 
figurative, have been very careless in the choice of 
their similes : provided the resemblance obtained in 
one circumstance, they minded not whether they 
disagreed with the subject in every other respect. 
Many instances of this defect in congruity may be 
culled from the most sublime parts of Scripture. 

Homer has been blamed for the bad choice of his 
similes on some particular occasions. He compares 
Ajax to an ass in the Iliad, and Ulysses to a steak 
broiling on the coals in the Odyssey. His admirers 
have endeavoured to excuse him, by reminding us 
of the simplicity of the age in which he wrote j but 



150 goldsmith's essays. 

they have not been able to prove that any ideas of 
dignity or importance were, even in those days, 
affixed to the character of an ass, or the quality of 
a beef-collop ; therefore they were very improper 
illustrations for any situation, in which a hero ought 
to be represented. 

Virgil has degraded the wife of king Latinus, by 
comparing her, when she was actuated by the Fury, 
to a top which the boys lash for diversion. This 
doubtless is a low image, though in other respects 
the comparison is not destitute of propriety ; but he 
is much more justly censured for the following simile, 
which has no sort of reference to the subject. 
Speaking of Turnus, he says, 

medio dux agmine Turnus 

Yertitur arma tenens, et toto vertice supra est. 
Ceu septem surgens sedatis amnibus altus 
Per taciturn Ganges ; aut pingui flumine Nilus 
Cum refluit campis, et jam se condidit alveo. 

But Turnus, chief amidst the warrior train, 

In armour towers the tallest on the plain. 

The Ganges, thus by seven rich streams supplied, 

A mighty mass devolves in silent pride. 

Thus Nilus pours from his prolific urn, 

When from thefields o'erflow'd his vagrant streams return. 

These, no doubt, are majestic images; but they bear 
no sort of resemblance to a hero glittering in ar- 
mour at the head of his forces. 

Horace has been ridiculed by some shrewd critics 
for this comparison, which, however, we think is 
more defensible than the former. Addressing him- 
self to Munatius Plancus, he says, 

Albus ut obscuro detergit nubila coelo 
Ssepe Notus, neque parturit irabres 



ON METAPHOR. 151 

Perpetuos : sic tu sapiens finire memento 

Tristitiam, vitaeque labores 
Molli, Plance, mero. 

As Notus often, when the welkin lowers, 
Sweeps off the clouds, nor teems perpetual showers, 
So let thy wisdom, free from anxious strife, 
In mellow wine dissolve the cares of life. 

Dunkin. 

The analogy, it must be confessed, is not very stri- 
king ; but nevertheless it is not altogether void of 
propriety. The poet reasons thus : as the south 
wind, though generally attended with rain, is often 
known to dispel the clouds, and render the weather 
serene ; so do you, though generally on the rack of 
thought, remember to relax sometimes, and drown 
your cares in wine. As the south wind is not always* 
moist, so you ought not always to be dry. 

A few instances of inaccuracy, or mediocrity, can 
never derogate from the superlative merit of Homer 
and Virgil, whose poems are the great magazines 
replete with every species of beauty and magnifi- 
cence, particularly abounding with similes which 
astonish, delight, and transport the reader. 

Every simile ought not only to be well adapted 
to the subject, but also to include every excellence 
of description, and to be coloured with the warmest 
tints of poetry. Nothing can be more happily hit 
off than the following in the Georgics, to which 
the poet compares Orpheus lamentiug his lost 
Eurydice. 

Qualis populea moerens Philomela sub umbra. 
Amissos queritur foetus, quos durus arator 
Observans nido implumes detraxit ; at ilia 
Flet noctem, ramoque sedens miserabile carmen 
\ Integrat, et mcestis late loca questibus implet. 



152 goldsmith's essays. 

So Philomela from the umbrageous wood 
In strains melodious mourns her tender brood, 
Snatch'd from the nest by some rude ploughman's hand, 
On some lone bough the warbler takes her stand ; 
The live-long night she mourns the cruel wrong ; 
And hill and dale resound the plaintive song. 

Here we not only find the most scrupulous propriety, 
and the happiest choice, in comparing theThracian 
bard to Philomel the poet of the grove ; but also the 
most beautiful description, containing a fine touch 
of the pathos, in which last particular indeed Virgil, 
in our opinion, excels all other poets, whether an- 
cient or modern. 

One would imagine that nature had exhausted 
itself in order to embellish the poems of Homer, 
Virgil, and Milton with similes and metaphors. The 
first of these very often uses the comparison of the 
wind, the whirlwind, the hail, the torrent, to ex- 
press the rapidity of his combatants : but when he 
comes to describe the velocity of the immortal 
horses that drew the chariot of Juno, he raises his 
ideas to the subject, and, as Longinus observes, 
measures every leap by the whole breadth of the 
horizon. 

Ocrffov 8' YiepoeiSeg avrjp <8ev otpSaAjUOiovv 
Hyuevof ev c"K07n>), Xsvacoov snti o*vo7ra 7C0VT0v y 
Toe-^ov £7riQp(*>crxov<rt S'ewv v-^rftetg faTTM. 

Far as a watchman from some rock on high 
O'er the wide main extends his boundless eye ; 
Through such a space of air, with thundering sound, 
At every leap the immortal coursers bound* 

The celerity of this goddess seems to be a favourite 
idea with the poet ; for in another place he com- 
pares it to the thought of a traveller revolving in his 






ON METAPHOR. 153 

mind the different places he Had seen, and passing 
through them in imagination more swift than the 
lightning flies from east to west. 

Homer's best similes have been copied by Virgil, 
and almost every succeeding poet, howsoever they 
may have varied in the manner of expression. In 
the third book of the Iliad, Menelaus seeing Paris, 
is compared to a hungry lion espying a hind or 
goat : 

Q.CTTS Xetuv e%ap>7 /xeyaX^ S7rt cwfxoLTi xvpact^ 
TLvpcw r) eAacpov xepaov, r\ ocyptoy a<ya, &c. 

So joys the lion, if a branching deer 
Or mountain goat his bulky prize appear. 
In vain the youths oppose, the mastiffs bay; 
The lordly savage rends the panting prey. 
Thus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound, 
In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground. 

The Mantuan bard, in the tenth book of the 
JEneidj applies the same simile to Mezentius, when 
. he beholds Acron in the battle. 

Impastus stabula alta leo ceu saepe peragrans 
(Suadet enim vesana fames) si forte fugacem 
Conspexitcapream,aut surgentem in cornua cervum; 
Gaudet hians immane, comasque arrexit, et haeret 
Visceribus super accumbens : layijUiniproba teter 
Ora cruor. — * 

Then as a hungry lion, who beholds 
A gamesome goat who frisks about the folds, 
Or beamy stag that grazes on the plain ; 
He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane ; 
He grins and opens wide his greedy jaws, 
The prey lies panting underneath his paws : 
He fills his famish'd maw, his mouth runs o'er 
With unchew'd morsels, while he churns the gore. 

Dry den. 
H 2 



154 goldsmith's essays. 

The reader will perceive that Virgil has improved 
the simile in one particular, and in another fallen 
short of his original. The description of the lion 
shakinghis mane, opening his hideous jaws distained 
with the blood of his prey, is great and picturesque : 
but, on the other hand, he has omitted the circum- 
stance of devouring it without being intimidated, or 
restrained by the dogs and youths that surround him ; 
a circumstance that adds greatly to our idea of his 
strength, intrepidity, and importance. 

XVII. 

ON HYPERBOLE. 

Of all the figures in poetry, that called the hyperbole 
is managed with the greatest difficulty. The hyper- 
bole is an exaggeration with which the muse is in- 
dulged, for the better illustration of her subject 
when she is warmed into enthusiasm. Quintilian 
calls it an ornament of the bolder kind. Demetrius 
Phalereus is still more severe. He says, the hyper- 
bole is of all forms of speech the most frigid. Ma/uc-ra 
Se r\ 'T7rspGo\Y} ■^v^porcx.TQv ttolvtwv: but this must 

be understood with some grains of allowance^ 
Poetry is animated by the passions; and all the pas- 
sions exaggerate. Passion itself is a magnifying 
medium. There are beautiful instances of hyper- 
bole in the Scripture, which a reader of sensibility 
cannot read without being strongly affected. The 
difficulty lies in choosing such hyperboles as the sub- 
ject will admit of ; for, according to the definition 
of Theophrastus, the frigid in style is that which ex- 
ceeds the expression suitable to the subject. The 



ON HYPERBOLE. 155 

judgment does not revolt against Homer for repre- 
senting the horses of Ericthonius running over the 
standing corn without breaking off the heads, be- 
cause the whole is considered as a fable, and the 
north wind is represented as their sire ; but the ima- 
gination is a little startled, when Virgil, in imita- 
tion of this hyperbole, exhibits Camilla as flying 
over it without even touching the tops. 

Ilia vel intactae segetis per summa volaret 
Graniina: 

This elegant author, we are afraid, has upon 
some other occasions degenerated into the frigid, 
in straining to improve upon his great master. 

Homer in the Odyssey, a work which Longinus 
does not scruple to charge with bearing the marks 
of old age, describes a storm in which all the four 
winds were concerned together. 

2vv 8' IZvpog re NoTOf r e^sae, Zetyvpogre Suo'arji*, 
Koct Boperis atQpr}y&)/eT7}g /meyx Kvp.cn. xvXivtiwv. 

We know that such a contention of contrary 
blasts could not possibly exist in nature ; for even 
in hurricanes the winds blow alternately from differ- 
ent points of the compass. Nevertheless, Virgil 
adopts the description, and adds to its extravagance. 

Incubu&re mari, totumque a sedibus imis 

Una Eurusque Notusque ruunt, creberque proceliis 

Africus. 

Here the winds not only blow together, but they 
turn the whole body of the ocean topsy turvy. — 
East, west, and south, engage with furious sweep, 
And from its lowest bed upturn the foaming deep. 

The north wind, however, is still more mis- 
chievous. 



156 goldsmith's essays. 

Stridens Aquilone procella 

Velum adversa ferit, fluctusque ad sidera tollit. 
The sail then Boreas rends with hideous cry, 
And whirls the maddening billows to the sky. 

The motion of the sea between Scylla and Cha- 
rybdis is still more magnified ; and^Etnais exhibited 
as throwing out volumes of flames, which brush the 
stars.* Such expressions as these are not intended 
as a real representation of the thing specified ; they 
are designed to strike the reader's imagination ; but 
they generally serve as marks of the author's sinking 
under his own ideas, who, apprehensive of injuring 
the greatness of his own conception, is hurried into 
excess and extravagance. 

Quintilian allows the use of hyperbole, when 
words are wanting to express any thing in its just 
strength or due energy : then, he says, it is better 
to exceed in expression, than fall short of the con- 
ception : but he likewise observes, that there is no 
figure or form of speech so apt to rim into fustian. 
Nee alia magis via in xaxo&Jwav itur. 

If the chaste Virgil has thus trespassed upon poe- 
tical probability, what can we expect from Lucan 
but hyperboles even more ridiculously extravagant ? 
He represents the winds in contest, the sea in sus- 
pense, doubting to which it shall give way. He 
affirms that its motion would have been so violent 
as to produce a second deluge, had not Jupiter 
kept it under by the clouds ; and as to the ship 3 
Nubila tanguntur veHs, et terra carina. 

* Speaking of the first he says, 

Tollimur in ccelum curvato gurgite, et idem 
Subducts ad manes imos descendimus und&. 

Of the other, 

Attollitque globos flammarum, et sidera lambit* 



ON HYPERBOLE. 157 

during this dreadful uproar, the sails touch the 
clouds, while the keel strikes the ground. 

This image of dashing water at the stars, sir 
Richard Blackmore has produced in colours truly- 
ridiculous. Describing spouting whales in his Prince 
Arthur, he makes the following comparison : 

Like some prodigious water-engine made 

To play on heaven, if fire should heaven invade. 

The great fault in all these instances is a devia- 
tion from propriety, owing to the erroneous judg- 
ment of the writer, who, endeavouring to captivate 
the admiration with novelty, very often shocks the 
understanding with extravagance. Of this nature 
is the whole description of the Cyclops, both in 
the Odyssey of Homer and in the ^Eneid of Virgih 
It must be owned however that the Latin poet with 
all his merit is more apt than his great original to 
dazzle us with false fire, and practise upon the 
imagination with gay conceits, that will not bear 
the critic's examination. There is not in any of 
Homer's works now subsisting such an example of 
the false sublime, as Virgil's description of the 
thunder-bolts forging under the hammers of the 
Cyclops. 

Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosas 
Addiderant, rutili tres ignis et alitis Austri. 

Three rays of writhen rain, of fire three more, 
Of winged southern winds, and cloudy store, 
As many parts, the dreadful mixture frame. 

Dry den, 

This is altogether a fantastic piece of affectation, of 
which we can form no sensible image, and serves to 
-chill the fancy, rather than warm the admiration^of 
a judging reader. 



158 goldsmith's essays. 

Extravagant hyperbole is a weed that grows 
in great plenty through the works of our admired 
Shakspeare. In the following description, which 
hath been much celebrated, one sees he has had an 
eye to Virgil's thunderbolts. 

O, then I see queen Mab hath been with you. 

She is the fancy's midwife, and she comes 

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 

On the fore-finger of an alderman, 

Drawn with a team of little atomies, 

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep ; 

Her waggon spokes made of long spinners' legs. 

The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 

The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; # 

The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams, &c. 

Even in describing fantastic beings, there is a pro- 
priety to be observed ; but surely nothing can be 
more revolting to common sense, than this number- 
ing of the moon beams among the other implements 
of queen Mab's harness, which, though extremely 
slender and diminutive, are nevertheless objects of 
the touch, and may be conceived capable of use. 

The ode and satire admit of the boldest hyper- 
boles: such exaggerations suit the impetuous warmth 
of the one ; and in the other have a good eifect in 
exposing folly, and exciting horror against vice. 
They may be likewise successfully used in Comedy, 
for moving and managing the powers of ridicule. 

XVIII. 

ON VERSIFICATION. 

Verse is an harmonious arrangement of long and 
short syllables, adapted to different kinds of poetry, 



ON VERSIFICATION. 159 

and owes its origin entirely to the measured cadence, 
or music, which was used when the first songs or 
hymns were recited. This music, divided into dif- 
ferent parts, required a regular return of the same 
measure, and thus every strophe, antistrophe, and 
stanza , contained the same number of feet. To 
know what constituted the different kinds of rhyth- 
mical feet among the ancients, with respect to the 
number and quantity of their syllables, we have 
nothing to do but to consult those who have written 
on grammar and prosody : it is the business of a 
schoolmaster rather than the accomplishment of a 
man of taste. 

Various essays have been made in different coun- 
tries to compare the characters of ancient and mo- 
dern versification, and to point out the difference 
beyond any possibility of mistake. But they have 
made distinctions, where in fact there was no dif- 
ference, and left the criterion unobserved. They 
have transferred the name of rhyme to a regular 
repetition of the same sound at the end of the line, 
and set up this vile monotony as the characteristic 
of modern verse, in contradistinction to the feet of 
the ancients, which they pretend the poetry of mo- 
dern languages will not admit. 

Rhyme, from the Greek word VvQuog, is nothing 
else but number, which was essential to the ancient, 
as well as to the modern versification. As to the 
jingle of similar sounds, though it was never used 
by the ancients in any regular return in the middle 
or at the end of the line, and was by no means 
deemed essential to the versification, yet they did 
not reject it as a blemish, where it occurred without 
the appearance of constraint. We meet with it 



460 goldsmith's essays. 

often in the epithets of Homer, apyvpeoio &*• 

— av«£ avfywy Ayausyuvwv — almost the whole first 
ode of Anacreon is what we call rhyme. The fol- 
lowing line of Virgil has been admired for the simi- 
litude of sound in the first two words. 

Ore, ^rethusa, tuo Siculis confunditur undis. 

Rythmus, or number, is certainly essential to 
verse, whether in the dead or living languages ; and 
the real difference between the two is this : the 
number in ancient verse relates to the feet, and in 
modern poetry to the syllables ; for to assert that 
modern poetry has no feet, is a ridiculous absurdity. 
The feet, that principally enter into the composi- 
tion of Greek and Latin verses, are either of two 
or three syllables : those of two syllables are either 
both long, as the spondee; or both short, as the 
pyrrhic ; Or one short and the other long, as the 
iambic ; or one long, and the other short, as the 
trochee. Those of three syllables are the dactyl, of 
One long and two short syllables ; the anapest, of 
two short and one long; the tribrachium, of three 
short ; and the molossus, of three long. 

From the different combinations of these feet, 
restricted to certain numbers, the ancients formed 
their different kinds of verses, such as the hexame- 
ter, or heroic, distinguished by six feet dactyls and 
spondees, the fifth being always a dactyl, and the 
last a spondee : e. g. 

12 3 4 5 6 

Principi-is obs-ta, se-ro medi-cina pa-ratur. 

The pentameter of five feet, dactyls and spondees, 
or of six, reckoning two caesuras. 

1 2 3 4 5 6 

Cum mala per Ion-gas invalu-ere mo-ras. 



ON VERSIFICATION. 161 

They had likewise the iambic of three sorts, the 
dimeter, the trimeter, and the tetrameter, and all 
the different kinds of lyric verse specified in the 
odes of Sappho, Alcaeus, Anacreon, and Horace. 
Each of these was distinguished by the number, as 
well as by the species of their feet ; so that they 
were doubly restricted. Now all the feet of the 
ancient poetry are still found in the versification of 
living languages ; for as cadence was regulated, by 
the ear, it was impossible for a man to write me- 
lodious verse without naturally falling into the use 
of ancient feet, though perhaps he neither knows 
their measure nor denomination. Thus Spenser, 
Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, and all our 
poets, abound w T ith dactyls, spondees, trochees, 
anapests, &c. which they used indiscriminately in 
all kinds of composition, whether tragic, epic, 
pastoral, or ode, having in this particular greatly 
the advantage of the ancients, who were restricted 
to particular kinds of feet in particular kinds of 
verse. If we then are confined with the fetters of 
what is called rhyme, they were restricted to par- 
ticular species of feet ; so that the advantages and 
disadvantages are pretty equally balanced : but 
indeed the English are more free in this particular 
than any other modern nation. They not only use 
blank-verse in tragedy and the epic, but even in 
lyric poetry, Milton's translation of Horace's Ode 
to Pyrrha is universally known, and generally ad- 
mired, in our opinion, much above its merit. There 
is an ode extant without rhyme, addressed to even- 
ing, by the late Mr. Collins, much more beautiful ; 
and Mr. Warton, with some others, has happily suc- 
ceeded in divers occasional pieces, that are free of 



162 goldsmith's essays. 

this restraint : but the number in all of these de- 
pends upon the syllables, and not upon the feet, 
which are unlimited. 

It is generally supposed that the genius of the 
English language will not admit of Greek or Latin 
measure : but this, we apprehend, is a mistake 
owing to the prejudice of education. It is impos- 
sible that the same measure, composed of the same 
times, should have a good effect upon the ear in one 
language, and a bad effect in another. The truth 
is, we have been accustomed from our infancy to 
tho numbers of English poetry, and the very sound 
and signification of the words dispose the ear to 
receive them in a certain manner ; so that its dis- 
appointment must be attended with a disagreeable 
sensation. In imbibing the first rudiments of edu- 
cation, we acquire, as it w r ere, another ear for the 
numbers of Greek and Latin poetry, and this being 
reserved entirely for the sounds and significations 
of the w T ords that constitute those dead languages, 
will not easily accommodate itself to the sounds of 
our vernacular tongue, though conveyed in the 
same time and measure. In a word, Latin and Greek 
have annexed to them the ideas of the ancient mea- 
sure, from which they are not easily disjoined. 
But we will venture to say, this difficulty might 
be surmounted by an effort of attention and a lit- 
tle practice ; and in that case we should in time 
be as well pleased with English as with Latin hex- 
ameters. 

Sir Philip Sidney is said to have miscarried in 
his essays ; but his miscarriage was no more than 
that of failing in an attempt to introduce a new- 
fashion. The failure was not owing to any defect 



OX VERSIFICATION. 163 

or imperfection in the scheme, but to the want of 
taste, to the irresolution and ignorance of the pub- 
lic. Without all doubt, the ancient measure, so dif- 
ferent from that of modern poetry, must have ap- 
peared remarkably uncouth to people in general, 
who were ignorant of the classics ; and nothing but 
the countenance and perseverance of the learned 
could reconcile them to the alteration. We have 
seen several late specimens of English hexameters 
and sapphics, so happily composed, that by attach- 
ing them to the idea of ancient measure, we found 
them in all respects as melodious and agreeable to 
the ear, as the works of Virgil and Anacreon, or 
Horace. 

Though the number of syllables distinguishes the 
nature of the English verse from that of the Greek 
and Latin, it constitutes neither harmony, grace, 
nor expression. These must depend upon the choice 
of words, the seat of the accent, the pause, and the 
cadence. The accent, or tone, is understood to be 
an elevation or sinking of the voice in reciting : the 
pause is a rest, that divides the verse into two parts, 
each of them called an hemistich. The pause and 
accent in English poetry vary occasionally, ac- 
cording to the meaning of the words ; so that the 
hemistich does not always consist of an equal num- 
ber of syllables ; and this variety is agreeable, as it 
prevents a dull repetition of regular stops, like 
those in the French versification, every line of 
which is divided by a pause exactly in the middle. 
The cadence comprehends that poetical style, which 
animates every line ; that propriety, which gives 
strength and expression ; that numerosity, which 
renders the verse smooth, flowing, and harmonious -, 



164 goldsmith's essays. 

that significancy, which marks the passions, and 
in many cases makes the sound an echo to the sense. 
The Greek and Latin languages, in being copious 
and ductile, are susceptible of a vast variety of 
cadences, which the living languages will not admit ; 
and of these a reader of any ear will judge for 
himself. 

XIX. 

SCHOOLS OF MUSIC, OBJECTIONS THERETO, AND 
ANSWERS. 

A school in the polite arts properly signifies that 
succession of artists, which has learned the princi- 
ples of the art from some eminent master, either by 
hearing his lessons, or studying his works ; and 
consequently who imitate his manner either through 
design or from habit. Musicians seem agreed in 
making only three principal schools in music ; name- 
ly, the school of Pergolese, irr Italy, of Lully, in 
France, and of Handel, in England ; though some 
are for making Rameau the founder of a new 
school, different from those of the former, as he is 
the inventor of beauties peculiarly his own. 

Without all doubt Pergolese 's music deserves the 
first rank : though excelling neither in variety of 
movements, number of parts, nor unexpected flights, 
yet he is universally allowed to be the musical Ra- 
phael of Italy. This great master's principal art 
consisted in knowing how to excite our passions by 
sounds, which seem frequently opposite to the pas- 
sion they would express : by slow solemn sounds 
he is sometimes known to throw us into all the rage 



ON SCHOOLS OF MUSIC. 165 

of battle ; and even by faster movements he excites 
melancholy in every heart, that sounds are capable 
of affecting. This is a talent which seems born with 
the artist. We are unable to tell why such sounds 
affect us : they seem no way imitative of the passion 
they would express, but operate upon us by an in- 
expressible sympathy, the original of which is as 
inscrutable as the secret springs of life itself. . To 
this excellence he adds another, in which he is su- 
perior to every other artist of the profession, the 
happy transition from one passion to another. No 
dramatic poet better knows to prepare his incidents 
than he : the audience are pleased in those intervals 
of passion with the delicate, the simple harmony, if I 
may so express it, in which the parts are all thrown 
into fugues, or often are barely unison. His melodies 
also, where no passion is expressed, give equal 
pleasure from this delicate simplicity: and I need 
only instance that song in the Serva Padrona, which 
begins Lo conosco a quegV occelli, as one of the 
finest instances of excellence in the duo. 

The Italian artists in general have followed his 
manner, yet seem fond of embellishing the delicate 
simplicity of the original. Their style in music 
seems somewhat to resemble that of Seneca in 
writing, where there are some beautiful starts of 
thought ; but the whole is filled with studied ele-" 
gance and unaffecting affectation. 

Lully in France first attempted the improvement 
of their music, which in general resembled that of 
our old solemn chants in churches. It is worthy 
of remark in general, that the music of every coun 
try is solemn in proportion as the inhabitants are 
merry ; or, in other words, the merriest, sprightliest 



166 goldsmith's essays. 

nations are remarked for having the slowest music ; 
, and those, whose character it is to be melancholy, 
are pleased with the most brisk and airy movements. 
Thus, in France, Poland, Ireland, and Switzerland, 
the national music is slow, melancholy, and solemn ; 
in Italy, England, Spain, and Germany, it is faster, 
proportionably as the people are grave. Lully only 
changed a bad manner which he found, for a bad 
one of his own. His drowsy pieces are played still 
to the most sprightly audience that can be conceived ; 
and even though Rameau, who is at once a musician 
and philosopher, has shown both by precept and 
example, what improvements French music may 
still admit of, yet his countrymen seem little con- 
vinced by his reasonings ; and the Pont-neuf taste, 
as it is called, still prevails in their best perform- 
ances. 

The English school was first planned by Parcel : 
he attempted to unite the Italian manner that pre- 
vailed in his time, with the ancient Celtic carol and 
the Scotch ballad, which probably had also its origin 
in Italy ; for some of the best Scotch ballads (" The 
Broom of Cowdenknows," for instance) are still 
ascribed to David Rizzio. But be that as it will, 
his manner was something peculiar to the English ; 
and he might have continued as head of the English 
school, had not his merits been entirely eclipsed by 
Handel. Handel, though originally a German, yet 
adopted the English manner : he had long laboured 
to please by Italian composition, but without suc- 
cess ; aud though his English oratorios are ac- 
counted inimitable, yet his Italian operas are fallen 
into oblivion. Pergolese excelled in passionate sub- 
limity; Lully was remarkable for creating a new 



ON SCHOOLS OF MUSIC? j 67 

species of music, where all is elegant, but nothing 
passionate or sublime : Handel's true characteristic 
is sublimity; he has employed all the variety of 
sounds and parts in all his pieces : the performances 
of the rest may be pleasing, though executed by few 
performers ; his require the full band. The atten- 
tion is awakened, the soul is roused np at his 
pieces; but distinct passion is seldom expressed. 
In this particular he has seldom found success : he 
has been obliged, in order to express passion, to 
imitate words by sounds, which though it gives the 
pleasure which imitation always produces, yet it 
fails of exciting those lasting affections, which it 
is in the power of sounds to produce. In a word, 
no man ever understood harmony so well as he ; 
but in melody he has been exceeded by several. 



[The following Objections to the preceding Essay having 
been addressed to Dr. Smollett (as editor of the British 
Magazine, in which it first appeared)? that gentleman, 
with equal candour and politeness, communicated the MS. 
to Dr. Goldsmith, who returned his answers to the objector 
in the notes annexed. — Edit.] 

Permit me to object against some things advanced 
in the paper on the subject of The Different 
Schools of Music. The author of this article 
seems too hasty in degrading the harmonious* Pur- 

* Had the objector said melodious Purcel, it had testified 
at least a greater acquaintance with music, and Purcel's 
peculiar excellence. Purcel in melody is frequently great ; 
his song made in his last sickness, called Rosy Bowers, is a 
fine instance of this; but in harmony he is far short of the 
meanest of our modern composers, his fullest harmonies 



168 goldsmith's essays. 

eel from the head of the English school, to erect in 
his room a foreigner (Handel), who has not yet 
formed any school.* The gentleman, when he comes 
to communicate his thoughts upon the different 
schools of painting, may as well place Rubens at 
the head of the English painters, because he left 
some monuments of his art in England, f He says, 

being exceedingly simple. His opera -of Prince Arthur, 
the words of which were Dryden's, is reckoned his finest 
piece. But what is that, in point of harmony, to what we 
every day hear from modern masters ? In short, with re- 
spect to genius, Purcel had a fine one : he greatly improved 
an art but little known in England before his time : for this 
he deserves our applause ; but the present prevailing taste in 
music is very different from what he left it, and who was 
the improver since his time we shall see by and by. 

* Handel may be said as justly as any man, not Pergolese 
excepted, to have founded a new school of music. When he 
first came into England, his music was entirely Italian: he 
composed for the opera ; and though even then his pieces 
were liked, yet did they not meet with universal approba- 
tion. In those he has too servilely imitated the modern 
vitiated Italian taste, by placing what foreigners call the 
point d'orgue too closely and injudiciously. But in his ora- 
torios he is perfectly an original genius. In these, by steer- 
ing between the manners of Italy and England, he has struck 
out new harmonies, and formed a species of music different 
from all others. He has left some excellent and eminent 
scholars, particularly Worgan and Smith, who compose 
nearly in his manner ; a manner as different from Purcel's 
as from that of modern Italy. Consequently Handel may 
be placed at the head of the English school. 

t The objector will not have Handel's school to be called 
an English school, because he was a German. Handel in a 
great measure found in England those essential differences, 
which characterise his music; we have already shown that 
he had them not upon his arrival. Had Rubens come over 
to England but moderately skilled in his art: had he learned 



ON SCHOOLS OF MUSIC. 169 

that Handel, though originally a German (as most 
certainly he was, and continued so to his last breath), 
yet adopted the English manner.* Yes, to be sure, 
just as much as Rubens the painter did. Your cor- 
respondent, in the course of his discoveries, tells us 
besides, that some of the best Scotch ballads ("The 
Broom of Cowdenknows," for instance) are still 
ascribed to David Rizzio.f This Rizzio must have 

here all his excellency in colouring, and correctness of de- 
signing; had he left several scholars excellent in his manner 
behind him ; I should not scruple to call the school erected 
by him, the English school of painting. Not the country in 
which a man is born, but his peculiar style, either in painting 
or in music — that constitutes him of this or that school. 
Thus Champagne, who painted in the manner of the French 
school, is always placed among the painters of that school, 
though he was born in Flanders, and should consequently, 
by the objector's rule, be placed among the Flemish painters. 
Kneller is placed in the German school, and Ostade in the 
Dutch, though born in the same city. Primatice, who may 
be truly said to have founded the Roman school, was born 
in Bologna; though, if his country was to determine his 
school, he should have been placed in the Lombard. There 
might several other instances be produced; but these, it is 
hoped, will be sufficient to prove that Handel, though a 
German, may be placed at the head of the English school. 

* Handel was originally a German; but by a long conti- 
nuance in England he might have been looked upon as na- 
turalized to the country. I don't pretend to be a fine writer : 
however, if the gentleman dislikes the expression (although 
he must be convinced it is a common one), I wish it were 
mended. 

t I said that they were ascribed to David Rizzio. That 
they are, the objector need only look into Mr. Oswald's Col- 
lection of Scotch tunes, and he will there find not only 
The Broom of Cowdenknows, but also the Black Eagle, 
and several other of the best Scotch tunes ascribed to him. 
Though this might be a sufficient answer, yet I must be per- 

I 



170 goldsmith's essays. 

been a most original genius, or have possessed ex- 
traordinary imitative powers, to have come, so 
advanced in life as he did, from Italy, and strike 
so far out of the common road of his own country's 
music. 
A mere fiddler,* a shallow coxcomb, a giddy, 

mitted to go further, to tell the objector the opinions of our 
best modern musicians in this particular. It is the opinion 
of the melodious Geminiani, that we have in the dominions 
of Great Britain no original music, except the Irish ; the 
Scotch and English being originally borrowed from the 
Italians. And that his opinion in this respect is just (for I 
would not be swayed merely by authorities) it is very reason- 
able to suppose, first, from the conformity between the Scotch 
and ancient Italian music. They who compare the old 
French vaudevilles, brought from Italy by Rinuccini, with 
those pieces ascribed to David Rizzio, who was pretty nearly 
contemporary with him, will find a strong resemblance, not- 
withstanding the opposite characters of the two nations, 
which have preserved those pieces. When I would have them 
compared, I mean I would have their bases compared, by 
which the similitude may be most exactly seen. Secondly, 
it is reasonable from the ancient music of the Scotch, which 
is still preserved in the Highlands, and which bears no resem- 
blance at all to the music of the Low Country. The High- 
land tunes are sung to Irish words, and flow entirely in the 
Irish manner. On the other hand, the Lowland music is 
always sung to English words. 

* David Rizzio was neither a mere fiddler, nor a shallow 
coxcomb, nor a worthless fellow, nor a stranger in Scotland. 
He had indeed been brought over from Piedmont, to be put 
at the head of a band of music, by king James V. one of the 
most elegant princes of his time, an exquisite judge of 
music, as well as of poetry, architecture, and all the fine 
arts. Rizzio, at the time of his death, had been above 
twenty years in Scotland ; he was secretary to the queen, 
and at the same time an agent from the pope ; so that he 
«ouldnot be so obscure as he has been represented. 



CAROLAN THE IRISH BARD. 171 

insolent, worthless fellow, to compose such pieces 
as nothing but genuine sensibility of mind, and an 
exquisite feeling of those passions, which animate 
only the finest souls, could dictate ; and in a man- 
ner too so extravagantly distant from that to which 
he had all his life been accustomed ! — It is impos- 
sible. — He might indeed have had presumption 
enough to add some flourishes to a few favourite 
airs, like a cobbler of old plays, when he takes it 
upon him to mend Shakspeare. So far he might 
go ; but further it is impossible for any one to be- 
lieve, that has but just ear enough to distinguish 
between the Italian and Scotch music, and is dis- 
posed to consider the subject with the least degree 
of attention. 
March 18, 1760. S. R. 

XX. 

On CAROLAN, THE IRISH BARD. 

There can be perhaps no greater entertainment 
than to compare the rude Celtic simplicity with 
modern refinement. Books however seem inca- 
pable of furnishing the parallel ; and to be ac- 
quainted with the ancient manners of our own 
ancestors, we should endeavour to look for their 
remains in those countries, which, being in some 
measure retired from an intercourse with other na- 
tions, are still untinctured with foreign refinement, 
language, or breeding. 

The Irish will satisfy curiosity in this respect pre- 
ferably to all other nations I have seen. They in 
several parts of that country still adhere to their 



172 goldsmith's essays. 

ancient language, dress, furniture, and supersti- 
tions ; several customs exist among them, that still 
speak their original ; and in some respects Caesar's 
description of the ancient Britons is applicable to 
them. 

Their bards, in particular, are still held in great 
veneration among them : those traditional heralds 
are invited to every funeral, in order to fill up the 
intervals of the howl with their songs and harps. 
In these they rehearse the actions of the ancestors 
of the deceased, bewail the bondage of their coun- 
try under the English government, and generally 
conclude with advising the young men and maidens 
to make the best use of their time, for they will 
soon, for all their present bloom, be stretched under 
the table like the dead body before them. 

Of all the bards this country ever produced, the 
last and the greatest was Carolan the Blind. 
He was at once a poet, a musician, a composer, and 
sung his own verses to his harp. The original natives 
never mention his name without rapture ; both his 
poetry and music they have by heart ; and even 
some of the English themselves, who have been 
transplanted there, find his music extremely plea- 
sing. A song beginning, " O Rourke's noble fare 
*w3l ne'er be forgot," translated by Dean Swift, is 
of his composition ; which, though perhaps by this 
means the best known of his pieces, is yet by no 
means the most deserving. His songs in general 
may be compared to those of Pindar, as they have 
frequently the same flights of imagination, and are 
composed (I don't say written, for he could 'not 
write) merely to flatter some man of fortune upon 
some excellence of the same kind. In these one 



CAROLAN THE IRISH BARD. 173 

man is praised for the excellence of his stable, as 
in Pindar, another for his hospitality, a third for 
the beauty of his wife and children, and a fourth 
for the antiquity of his family. Whenever any of 
the original natives of distinction were assembled at 
feasting or revelling, Carolan was generally there, 
where he was always ready with his harp to cele- 
brate their praises. He seemed by nature formed 
for his profession ; for as he was born blind, so also 
he was possessed of a most astonishing memory, 
and a facetious turn of thinking, which gave his 
entertainers infinite satisfaction. Being once at 
the house of an Irish nobleman, where there was 
a musician present, who was eminent in the pro- 
fession, Carolan immediately challenged him to a 
trial of skill. To carry the jest forward, his lord- 
ship persuaded the musician to accept the challenge, 
and he accordingly played over on his fiddle the 
fifth concerto of Vivaldi. Carolan, immediately 
taking his harp, played over the whole piece after 
him, without missing a note, though he had never 
heard it before, which produced some surprise ; 
but their astonishment increased, when he assured 
them he could make a concerto in the same taste 
himself, which he instantly composed, and that 
with such a spirit and elegance, that it may com- 
pare (for we have it still) with the finest composi- 
tions of Italy. 

His death was not more remarkable than his life. 
Homer was never more fond of a glass than he ; he 
would drink whole pints of Usquebaugh, and, as 
he used to think, without any ill consequence. His 
intemperance however in this respect at length 
brought on an incurable disorder, and when just at 



174 goldsmith's essays. 

the point of death, he called for a cup of his be- 
loved liquor. Those who were standing round him, 
surprised at the demand, endeavoured .to persuade 
him to the contrary ; but he persisted, and, when 
the bowl was brought him, attempted to drink, 
but could not ; wherefore, giving away the bowl, 
he observed with a smile, that it w T ould be hard if 
two such friends as he and the cup should part at 
least without kissing ; and then expired. 

XXI. 

ON THE TENANTS OF THE LEASOWES. 

Of all men, who form gay illusions of distant hap- 
piness, perhaps a poet is the most sanguine. Such 
is the ardour of his hopes, that they often are equal 
to actual enjoyment ; and he feels more in expect- 
ance than actual fruition. I have often regarded 
a character of this kiud with some degree of envy. 
A man possessed of such warm imagination com- 
mands all nature, and arrogates possessions,- of 
which the owner has a blunter relish. While life 
continues, the alluring prospect lies before him; 
he travels in the pursuit with confidence, and re- 
signs it only with his last breath. 

It is this happy confidence which gives life its 
true relish, and keeps up our spirits amidst every 
distress and disappointment. How much less would 
be done, if a man knew how r little he can do ! 
How wretched a creature would he be, if he saw 
the end as well as the beginning of his projects ! He 
would have nothing left but to sit down in torpid des - 
pair, and exchange employment for actual calamity. 



ON THE TENANTS OF THE LEASOWES. 175 

I was led into this train of thinking upon lately 
visiting,* the beautiful gardens of the late Mr. Shen- 
stone, who was himself a poet, and possessed of 
that warm imagination, which made him ever fore- 
most in the pursuit of flying happiness. Could he 
but have foreseen the end of all his schemes, for 
whom he was improving, and what changes his 
designs were to undergo, he would have scarcely 
amused his innocent life w r ith what for several 
years employed him in a most harmless manner, 
and abridged his scanty fortune. As the progress 
of this improvement is a true picture of sublunary 
vicissitude, I could not help calling up my imagi- 
nation, which, while I walked pensively along, sug- 
gested the following reverie. 

As I was turning my back upon a -beautiful piece 
of water enlivened with cascades and rock-work, 
and entering a dark walk by which ran a prattling 
brook, the genius of the place appeared before me, 
but more resembling the God of Time, than him 
more particularly appointed to the care of gardens. 
Instead of shears he bore a scythe ; and he appeared 
rather with the implements of husbandry, than 
those of a modern gardener. Having remembered 
this place in its pristine beauty, I could not help 
condoling with him on its present ruinous situation. 
I spoke to him of the many alterations which had 
been made, and all for the worse ; of the many 
shades which had been taken away, of the bowers 
that w r ere destroyed by neglect, and the hedge- 
rows that were spoiled by clipping. The genius 
with a sigh received my condolement, and assured 
me that he was equally a martyr to ignorance and 

♦ 1773, 



176 goldsmith's essays. 

taste, to refinement and rusticity. Seeing me de- 
sirous of knowing further, he went on : 

" You see, in the place before you, the paternal 
inheritance of a poet ; and to a man content with 
little, fully sufficient for his subsistence ; but a 
strong imagination and a long acquaintance with 
the rich, are dangerous foes to contentment. Our 
poet, instead of sitting down to enjoy life, resolved 
to prepare for its future enjoyment ; and set about 
converting a place of profit into a scene of plea- 
sure. This he at first supposed could be accom- 
plished at a small expense; and he was willing 
for a while to stint his income, to have an oppor- 
tunity of displaying his taste. The improvement 
in this manner went forward; one beauty attained 
led him to wish for some other ; but he still hoped 
that every emendation would be the last. It was 
now therefore found that the improvement ex- 
ceeded the subsidy, that the place was grown too 
large and too fine for the inhabitant. But that 
pride which was once exhibited could not retire ; 
the garden was made for the owner, and though it 
was become unfit for him, he could not willingly 
resign it to auother. Thus the first idea of its 
beauties contributing to the happiness of his life 
was found unfaithful; so that, instead of looking 
within for satisfaction, he began to think of having 
recourse to the praises of those who came to visit 
his improvement. 

" In consequence of this hope, which now took 
possession of his mind, the gardens were opened 
to the visits of every stranger ; and the country 
flocked round to walk, to criticise, to admire, and 
to do mischief. He soon found, that the admirers 



ON THE TENANTS OF THE LEASOWES. 177 

of his taste left by no means such strong marks of 
their applause, as the envious did of their malig- 
nity. All the windows of his temples, and the 
walls of his retreats, were impressed with the cha- 
racters of profaneness, ignorance, and obscenity ; 
his hedges were broken, his statues and urns de- 
faced, and his lawns worn bare. It was now 
therefore necessary to shut up the gardens once 
more, and to deprive the public of that happiness, 
which had before ceased to be his own. 

" In this situation the poet continued for a time 
in the character of a jealous lover, fond of the 
beauty he keeps, but unable to supply the extra- 
vagance of every demand. The garden by this 
time was completely grown and finished; the marks 
of art were covered up by the luxuriance of na- 
ture ; the winding walks were grown dark ; the 
brook assumed a natural sylvage ; and the rocks 
were covered with moss. Nothing now remained 
but to enjoy the beauties of the place, when the 
poor poet died, and his garden was obliged to be 
sold for the benefit of those, who had contributed 
to its embellishment. 

" The beauties of the place had now for some 
time been celebrated as well in prose as in verse ; 
and all men of taste wished for so envied a spot, 
where every urn was marked with the poet's pen- 
cil, and every walk awakened genius and medita- 
tion. The first purchaser was one Mr. Truepenny, 
a button-maker, who was possessed of three thou- 
sand pounds, and was willing also to be possessed 
of taste and genius. 

" As the poet's ideas were for the natural wildness 
of the landscape, the button-maker's were for the 

i 2 



178 goldsmith's essays. 

more regular production of art. He conceived 
perhaps that as it is a beauty in a button to be of 
a regular pattern, so the same regularity ought to 
obtain in a landscape. Be this as it will, he em- 
ployed the shears to some purpose ; he clipped up 
the hedges, cut down the gloomy walks, made 
vistos upon the stables and hog-sties, and showed 
his friends that a man of taste should always be 
doing. 

" The next candidate for taste and genius w r as a 
captain of a ship, who bought the garden because 
the former possessor could find nothing more to 
mend ; but unfortunately he had taste too. His 
great passion lay in building, in making Chinese 
temples and cage-work summer-houses. As the ~ 
place before had an appearance of retirement, and 
inspired meditation, he gave it a more peopled 
.air ; every turning preseuted a cottage, or ice- 
house, or a temple; the improvement w r as con- 
verted into a little city, and it only wanted inha- 
bitants to give it the air of a village in the East 
Indies. 

" In this manner, in less than ten years, the im- 
provement has gone through the hands of as many 
proprietors, who were all willing to have taste, and 
to show their taste too. As the place had received 
its best finishing from the hand of the first pos- 
sessor, so every innovator only lent a hand to do 
mischief. Those parts which were obscure have 
been enlightened ; those walks which led natu- 
rally, have been twisted into serpentine windings. 
The colour of the flowers of the field is not more 
various than the variety of tastes that have been 
employed here, and all in direct contradiction to 



ON SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 179 

the original aim of the first improver. Could the 
original possessor but revive, with what a sorrowful 
heart would he look upon his favourite spot again ! 
He would scarcely recollect a dryad or a wood- 
nymph of his former acquaintance, and might 
perhaps find himself as much a stranger in his own 
plantation, as in the deserts of Siberia." 



XXII. 

ON SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 

The theatre, like all other amusements, has its 
fashions and its prejudices ; and when satiated with 
its excellence, mankind begin to mistake change 
for improvement. For some years tragedy was the 
reigning entertainment ; but of late it has entirely 
given way to comedy, and our best efforts are now 
exerted in these lighter kinds of composition. The 
pompous train, the swelling phrase, and the unna- 
tural rant, are displaced for that natural portrait 
of human folly and frailty, of which all are judges, 
because all have sat for the picture. 

But as in describing nature, it is presented with 
a double face, either of mirth or sadness, our mo- 
dern writers find themselves at a loss which chiefly 
to copy from ; and it is now debated, whether the 
exhibition of human distress is likely to afford the 
mind more entertainment than that of human ab- 
surdity ? 

Comedy is defined by Aristotle to be a picture of 
the frailties of the lower part of mankind, to di- 
stinguish it from tragedy, which is an exhibition of 
the misfortunes of the great. When comedy there- 



180 goldsmith's essays. 

fore ascends to produce the characters of princes 
or generals upon the stage, it is out of its walk, 
since low life and middle life are entirely its ob- 
ject. The principal question therefore is, whether 
in describing low or middle life^ an exhibition of 
its follies be not preferable to a detail of its cala-. 
mities ; or, in other words, which deserves the 
preference ; the weeping sentimental comedy, so 
much in fashion at present,* or the laughing and 
even low comedy, which seems to have been last 
exhibited by Vanbrugh and Cibber ? 

If we apply to authorities, all the great masters 
in the dramatic art have but one opinion. Their 
rule is, that as tragedy displays the calamities of 
the great, so comedy should excite our laughter, 
by ridiculously exhibiting the follies of the lower 
part of mankind. Boileau, one of the best modern 
critics, asserts, that comedy will not admit of 
tragic distress : 

Le comique, ennemi des soupirs et des pleurs, 
N'admet point dans ses vers des tragiques douleurs. 

Nor is this rule without the strongest foundation 
in nature, as the distresses of the mean by no means 
affect us so strongly as the calamities of the great. 
When tragedy exhibits to us some great man fallen 
from his height, and struggling with want and ad- 
versity, we feel his situation in the same manner as 
we suppose he himself must feel, and our pity is in- 
creased in proportion to the height from which he 
fell. On the contrary, we do not so strongly sym- 
pathize with one born in humbler circumstances, 
and encountering accidental distress : so that while 
w r e melt for Belisarius, we scarcely give halfpence 

* 1773. 



ON SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 181 

to the beggar, who accosts us in the street. The one 
has our pity; the other our contempt. Distress 
therefore is the proper object of tragedy, since the 
great excite our pity by their fall ; but not equally 
so of comedy, since the actors employed in it are 
originally so mean, that they sink but little by 
their fall. 

Since the first origin of the stage, tragedy and 
comedy have run in distinct channels, and never 
till of late encroached upon the provinces of each 
other. Terence, who seems to have made the nearest 
approaches, always judiciously stops short before 
he comes to the downright pathetic ; and yet he is 
even reproached by Caesar for wanting the vis co- 
mica. All the other comic writers of antiquity aim 
only at rendering folly or vice ridiculous, but ne- 
ver exalt their characters into buskined pomp, or 
make what Voltaire humorously calls a Tradesman's 
Tragedy. 

Yet, notwithstanding this weight of authority, 
and the universal practice of former ages, a new 
species of dramatic composition has been introduced 
under the name of sentimental comedy, in which 
the virtues of private life are exhibited, rather than 
the vices exposed; and the distresses, rather than 
the faults of mankind, make our interest in the 
piece. These comedies have had of late great suc- 
cess, perhaps from their novelty, and also from 
their flattering every man in his favourite foible. 
In these plays almost all the characters are good, 
and exceedingly generous ; they are lavish enough 
of their tin money on the stage ; and though they 
want humour, have abundance of sentiment and 
feeling. If they happen to have faults or foibleSj 



182 goldsmith's essays. 

the spectator is taught not only to pardon, but to 
applaud them, in consideration of the goodness of 
their hearts ; so that folly, instead of being ridi- 
culed, is commended, and the comedy aims at touch- 
ing our passions without the power of being truly 
pathetic. In this manner we are likely to lose 
one great source of entertainment on the stage ; 
for while the comic poet is invading the province 
of the tragic muse, he leaves her lovely sister quite 
neglected. Of this however he is no ways solici- 
tous, as he measures his fame by his profits. 

But it will be said, that the theatre is formed to 
amuse mankind, and that it matters little, if this 
end be answered, by what means it is obtained. If 
mankind find delight in weeping at comedy, it 
would be cruel to abridge them in that or any other 
innocent pleasure. If those pieces are denied the 
name of comedies, yet call them by any other name, 
and if they are delightful, they are good. Their 
success, it will be said, is a mark of their, merit, 
and it is only abridging our happiness to deny us 
an inlet to amusement. 

These objections however are rather specious than 
solid. It is true, that amusement is a great object 
of the theatre ; and it will be allowed, that these 
sentimental pieces do often amuse us : but the ques- 
tion is, whether the true comedy would not amuse 
us more ? The question is, whether a character sup- 
ported throughout a piece with its ridicule still 
attending, would not give us more delight than this 
species of bastard tragedy, which only is applauded 
because it is new ? 

A friend of mine, who was sitting unmoved at 
one of these sentimental pieces, was asked how he 



ON SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 183 

could be so indifferent. " Why truly," says he,-" as 
the hero is but a tradesman, it is indifferent to me 
whether he be turned out of his counting-house on 
Fish-street Hill, since he wall still have enough 
left to open shop in St. Giles's." 

The other objection is as ill-grounded ; for though 
we should give these pieces another name, it will 
not mend their efficacy. It will continue a kind of 
mulish production, with all the defects of its oppo- 
site parents, and marked with sterility. If we are 
permitted to make comedy weep, we have an equal 
right to make tragedy laugh, and to set down in 
blank verse the jests and repartees of all the attend- 
ants in a funeral procession. 

But there is one argument in favour of sentimen- 
tal comedy which will keep it on the stage, in spite 
of all that can be said against it. It is of all others 
the most easily written. Those abilities, that can 
hammer out a novel, are fully sufficient for the pro- 
duction of a sentimental comedy. It is only suffi- 
cient to raise the characters a little ; to deck out 
the hero with a riband, or give the heroine a title ; 
then to put an insipid dialogue without character 
or humour into their mouths, give them mighty 
good hearts, very fine clothes, furnish a new set of 
scenes, make a pathetic scene or two, with a sprink- 
ling of tender melancholy conversation through the 
whole, and there is no doubt but all the ladies will 
cry, and all the gentlemen applaud. 

Humour at present seems to be departing from the 
stage ; and it will soon happen that our comic play- 
ers will have nothing left for it but a fine coat and 
a song. It depends upon the audience, whether 
they will actually drive those poor merry creatures 



184 goldsmith's essays. 

from the stage, or sit at a play as gloomy as at the 
tabernacle. It is not easy to recover an art when 
once lost; and it will be but a just punishment, 
that when, by our being too fastidious, we have 
banished humour from the stage, we should our- 
selves be deprived of the art of laughing. 

XXIII. 

SCOTCH MARRIAGES. 

As I see you are fond of gallantry, and seem will- 
ing to set young people together as soon as you can, 
I cannot help lending my assistance to your endea- 
vours, as I am greatly concerned in the attempt. 
You must know, sir, that I am landlady of one of 
the most noted inns on the road to Scotland, and 
have seldom less than eight or ten couples a week, 
who go down rapturous lovers, and return man and 
wife. 

If there be in this world an agreeable situation, 
it must be that in which a young couple find them- 
selves when just let loose from confinement, and 
whirling off to the land of promise. When the 
post-chaise is driving off, and the blinds are drawn 
up, sure nothing can equal it. And yet, I do not 
know how, what with the fears of being pursued, 
or the wishes for greater happiness, not one of my 
customers but seems gloomy and out of temper. 
The gentlemen are all sullen, and the ladies dis- 
contented. 

But if it be so going down, how is it with them 
coming back ? Having been for a fortnight toge- 
ther, they are then mighty good company to be sure. 
It is then the young lady's indiscretion stares her 



SCOTCH MARRIAGES. 185 

in the face, and the gentleman himself finds that 
much is to be done before the money comes in. 

For my own part, sir, I was married in the usual 
way ; all my friends were at the wedding ; I was 
conducted with great ceremony from the table to 
the bed ; and I do not find that it any ways 
diminished my happiness with my husband, while, 
poor man, he continued with me. For my part, I 
am entirely for doing things in the old family way ; 
I hate your new-fashioned manners, and never 
loved an outlandish marriage in my life. 

As I have had numbers call at my house, you 
may be sure I was not idle in inquiring who they 
were, and how they did in the world after they left 
me. I cannot say that I ever heard much good come 
of them ; and of a history of twenty-five, that I 
noted down in my ledger, I do not know a single 
couple that would not have been full as happy if 
they had gone the plain way to work, and asked 
the consent of their parents. To convince you of it, 
1 will mention the names of a few, and refer the 
rest to some fitter opportunity. 

Imprimis, miss Jenny Hastings went down to 
Scotland with a tailor, who, to be sure, for a tailor 
was a very agreeable sort of a man. But I do not 
know how, he did not take proper measure of the 
young lady's disposition : they quarrelled at my 
house on their return ; so she left him for a cornet 
of dragoons, and he went back to his shopboard. 

Miss Rachel Runfort went off with a grenadier. 
They spent all their money going down ; so that he 
carried her down in a post-chaise, and coming back,, 
she helped to carry his knapsack. 

Miss Racket went down with her lover in their 



186 goldsmith's essays. 

own phaeton ; but upon their return, being very 
fond of driving, she would be every now and then 
for holding the whip. This bred a dispute ; and 
before they were a fortaight together, she felt that 
he could exercise the whip on somebody else besides 
the horses. 

Miss Meekly, though all compliance to the will 
of her lover, could never reconcile him to the change 
of his situation. It seems he married her sup- 
posing she had a large fortune; but being deceived 
in their expectations, they parted, and they now 
keep separate garrets in Rosemary-lane. 

The next couple of whom I have any account, ac- 
tually lived together in great harmony and uncloying 
kindness for no less than a month ; but the lady, who 
was a little in years, having parted with her fortune 
to her dearest life, he left her to make love to that 
better part of her which he valued more. 

The next pair consisted of an Irish fortune-hunter, 
and one of the prettiest modestest ladies that ever 
my eyes beheld. As he was a well-looking gentle- 
man all dressed in lace, and as she seemed very fond 
of him, I thought they were blessed for life. Yet I 
was quickly mistaken. The lady was no better than 
a common woman of the town, .and he was no 
better than a sharper ; so they agreed upon a mutual 
divorce ; he now dresses at the York ball, and she 
is in keeping by the member for our borough in par- 
liament. 

In this manner we see, that all those marriages in 
which there is interest on one side and disobedience 
on the other, are not likely to promise a long har- 
vest of delights. If our fortune-hunting gentlemen 
would but speak out, the young lady, instead of a 



SCOTCH MARRIAGES. 187 

lover, would often find a sneaking rogue, that only 
wanted the lady's purse, and not her heart. For my 
own part, I never saw any thing but design and 
falsehood in every one of them ; and my blood has 
boiled in my veins when I saw a young fellow of 
twenty kneeling at the feet of a twenty thousand 
pounder, professing his passion, while he was taking 
aim at her money. I do not deny but there may be 
love in a Scotch marriage, but it is generally all on 
one side. 

Of all the sincere admirers I ever knew, a man of 
my acquaintance, who however did not run away 
with his mistress to Scotland, was the most so. An 
old exciseman of our town, who, as you may guess, 
was not very rich, had a daughter, who, as you 
shall see, was not very handsome. It was the opi- 
nion of every body, that this young woman would 
not soon be married, as she wanted two main arti- 
cles, beauty and fortune. But for all this a very 
well-looking man, that happened to be travelling 
those parts, came and asked the exciseman for his 
daughter in marriage. The exciseman, willing to 
deal openly by him, asked if he had seen the girl ; 
" for," said he, " she is hump-backed." — " Very 
well," cried the stranger, " that will do for me." 
— " Ay," says the exciseman, "but my daughter 
is as brown as a berry." — " So much the better,* * 
cried the stranger; " such skins wear well."' — 
" But she is bandy-legged," says the exciseman. 
"No matter,'* cries the other; " her petticoats 
will hide that defect." — " But then she is very poor, 
and wants an 1 eye." — " Your description delights 
me,*' cried the stranger: " 1 have been looking out 
for one of her make ; for I keep an exhibition of 



188 goldsmith's essays. 

wild beasts, and intend to show her off for a Chim- 
panzee, '' 

XXIV. 

ON THE DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 

Mankind have ever been prone to expatiate in 
the praise of human nature. The dignity of man is 
a subject that has always been the favourite theme 
of humanity ; they have declaimed with that osten- 
tation which usually accompanies such as are sure 
of having a partial audience ; they have obtained 
victories, because there were none to oppose. Yet 
from all I have ever read or seen, men appear more 
apt to err by having too high, than by having too 
despicable an opinion of their nature ; and by at- 
tempting to exalt their original place in the crea- 
tion, depress their real value in society. 

The most ignorant nations have always been 
found to think most highly of themselves. The 
Deity has ever been thought peculiarly concerned 
in their glory and preservation ; to have fought their 
battles, and inspired their teachers : their wizards 
are said to be familiar with heaven : and every 
hero has a guard of angels as well as men to attend 
him. When the Portuguese first came among the 
wretched inhabitants of the coast of Africa, these 
savage nations readily allowed the strangers more 
skill in navigation and war ; yet still considered 
them at best but as useful servants, brought to their 
coast by their guardian serpent, to supply them 
with luxuries they could have lived without. Though 
they could grant the Portuguese more riches, they 
could never allow them to have such a king as their 



ON THE DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE, 189 

Tottimondelem, who wore a bracelet of shells round 
his neck, and whose legs w r ere covered with ivory. 

In this manner examine a savage in the history of 
his country and predecessors ; you ever find his war- 
riors able to conquer armies, and his sages acquainted 
with more than possible knowledge : human nature 
is to him an unknown country: he thinks it ca- 
pable of great things, because he is ignorant of its 
boundaries ; whatever can be conceived to be done 
he allows to be possible, and whatever is possible 
he conjectures must have been done. He never 
measures the actions and powers of others by what 
himself is able to perform, nor makes a proper esti- 
mate of the greatness of his fellows, by bringing it 
to the standard of his own capacity. He is satisfied 
to be one of a country where mighty things have 
been ; and imagines the fancied power of others 
reflects a lustre on himself. Thus by degrees he 
loses the idea of his own insignificance in a con- 
fused notion of the extraordinary powers of huma- 
nity, and is willing to grant extraordinary gifts to 
every pretender, because unacquainted with their 
claims. 

This is the reason why demi-gods and heroes have 
ever been erected in times or countries of ignorance 
and barbarity: they addressed a people who had 
high opinions of human nature, because they were 
ignorant how far it could extend ; they addressed a 
people who were willing to allow that men should 
be gods, because they were yet imperfectly ac- 
quainted with God and with man. These impostors 
knew that all men are naturally fond of seeing 
something very great made from the little materials 
of humanity ; that ignorant nations are not more 



190 goldsmith's essays. 

proud of building a tower to reach heaven, or a py- 
ramid to last for ages, than of raising up a demi- 
god of their own country and creation. The same 
pride that erects a colossus or a pyramid instals a 
god or a hero : but though the adoring savage can 
raise his colossus to the clouds, he can exalt the 
hero not one inch above the standard of humanity ; 
incapable therefore of exalting the idol, he debases 
himself, and falls prostrate before him. 

When man has thus acquired an erroneous idea 
of the dignity of his species, he and the gods become 
perfectly intimate ; men are but angels, angels are 
but men, nay but servants that stand in waiting to 
execute human commands. The Persians, for in 
stance, thus address their prophet Haly : " I salute 
thee, glorious Creator, of whom the sun is but the 
shadow. Masterpiece of the lord of human crea- 
tures, great star of justice and religion, the sea is 
not rich and liberal, but by the gifts of thy munifi- 
cent hands. The angel treasurer of heaven reaps 
his harvest in the fertile gardens of the purity of 
thy nature. The primum mobile would never dart 
the ball of the sun through the trunk of heaven, 
were it not to serve the morning out of the extreme 
love she has for thee. The angel Gabriel, messenger 
of truth, every day kisses the groundsel of thy gate. 
Were there a place more exalted than the most high 
throne of God, I would affirm it to be thy place, O 
master of the faithful! Gabriel, with all his art and 
knowledge, is but a mere scholar to thee." Thus, 
my friend, men think proper to treat angels ; but if 
indeed there be such an order of beings, with what 
a degree of satirical contempt must they listen to 
the songs of little mortals thus flattering each other ! 



ON THE DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 191 

thus to see creatures, wiser indeed than the monkey, 
and more active than the oyster, claiming to them- 
selves a mastery of heaven ! minims, the tenants of 
an atom, thus arrogating a partnership in the crea- 
tion of universal nature ! surely heaven is kind that 
launches no thunder at those guilty heads ; but it is 
kind, and regards their follies with pity, nor will 
destroy creatures that it loved into being. 

But whatever success this practice of making 
demi-gods might have been attended with in barba- 
rous nations, I do not know that any man became 
a god in a country where the inhabitants were re- 
fined. Such countries generally have too close an 
inspection into human weakness to think it invested 
with celestial power. They sometimes indeed ad- 
mit the gods of strangers, or of their ancestors, who 
had their existence in times of obscurity ; their weak- 
ness being forgotten, while nothing but their power 
and their miracles were remembered. The Chinese, 
for instance, never had a god of their own country ; 
the idols which the vulgar worship at this day were 
brought from the barbarous nations around them. 
The Roman emperors, who pretended to divinity, 
were generally taught by a poniard that they 
were mortal; and Alexander, though he passed 
among barbarous countries for a real god, could 
never persuade his polite countrymen into a simili- 
tude of thinking. The Lacedaemonians shrewdly 
complied with his commands by the following sar- 
castic edict : E< AXe^ai/S^oj jSouXsra* uvcu 0eo;, ®sog 



eo"Tw. 



INDEX. 



No. Page 

I. Description of various Clubs 7 

II. Specimen of a Magazine in Miniature ... 17 

III. Asem, an Eastern Tale . . 22 

IV. On the English Clergy, and popular Preachers 31 
V. A Reverie at the BoarY Head Tavern, East- 
cheap . 37 

VI. Adventures of a Strolling Player . . 54 

VII. Rules enjoined to be observed at a Russian 

Assembly . . , . . , 66 

VIII. Biographical Memoir, supposed to be written 

by the Ordinary of Newgate 68 

IX. On National Concord . 71 

X. Female Warriors ....... ... 74 

XI. On National Prejudice .80 

XII. On Taste 85 

XIII. Cultivation of Taste 95 

XIV. Origin of Poetry . . . 107 

XV. Poetry distinguished from other Writing . . 131 

XVI. On Metaphor 133 

XVII. On Hyperbole 154 

XVIII. On Versification 158 

XIX. Schools of Music— Objections thereto, and 

Answers 164 

XX. On Carolan, the Irish Bard 171 

XXI. On the Tenants of the Leasowes 174 

XXII. On Sentimental Comedy 179 

XXIII. Scotch Marriages 184 

XXIV. On the Dignity of Human Nature . . . .188 



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